Marukaite chikyuu
by Europe28
Summary: The cry grew louder. The child lay on his back in the middle of the storm, flailing his tiny fists. He screamed, turning red in the face with the effort, but all the reply he got was a mouthful of sand. Mainly FrUk, list of other pairings inside.
1. Note

The authors note

For a story as long as this one, I feel I should begin with some points.

The history may in places have mistakes; I welcome all helpful corrections. But the dates and events underlined will always be correct.

It is not just a time line, there is an over all story that runs through the whole piece

I have used a translator for the languages, again any corrections are welcome

The overall main pairing is FrancexEngland I suppose, but many others are still very prominent.

FrUk M

UsCan M

SpaMaro M

PruHun M

GerIta M

HRExItaly M

PoLiet T (Might change)

SwissxLiech T

BelarusxRussia T

GreecexTurkey K+ (Not quite sure if it really is a pairing)

SuFin K

BelgiumxNetherlands K

DenNor K

Please try not to be too critical, but I always love reviews~


	2. Chapter 1

**1250 BC – The Fall of Troy**

The cry was a noise like no one had heard before. The storm outside whipped up a gale, throwing the desert sand and small discarded items into the air, rain lashing down in millions and millions of sharp cold pellets.

The cry grew louder. The child lay on his back in the middle of the storm, flailing his tiny fists, trying to rub the sand from his bright green eyes. He screamed, turning red in the face with the effort, but all he got of a reply was a mouthful of sand.

Nearby to where the boy lay, maybe a few miles to the east lay a city surrounded by high stone walls, battlements dotting along the top filled with alert men peering out at the barren lands below.

The people of Troy had heard crying that night, an eerie cry that no one could place; it sounded just as much as if it were in your own house to, if it had it had been hundreds of miles away.

Helen had been deeply disturbed by the noise in her chamber that night- to her it sounded like two cries rather than one, two children, though one sounded closer than the other.

But by midnight the crying had stopped and everyone could settle back down into a deep sleep, even the guard's bright eyes were beginning to slowly shut. The only ones that didn't seem effected by this strange spell were the men crouched low inside the wooden horse in the centre of the city.

The Greeks, led by Menelaus, sent to retrieve Helen and bring her back to their city. They had been attempting this for several years, fighting battle after battle with the Trojans. This time they had built a horse out of wood, big enough for a large amount of army to cram into- the rest were waiting outside the city walls at a fair distance, waiting to be let in.

When they were sure the people of Troy were soundly asleep they dropped down into the square, drawing their swords as quickly and silently as a cat waiting to pounce.

They looked to their leader for the signal, eager and nervous about the deed they were about to perform- all eyes fixed on one man, who within the second let his arm drop.

First there was order, and then all hell broke lose within the houses. Somewhere a child could be heard wailing- louder than the rest, its cries unrelenting, not even drawing for breath.

As the Greeks cut away at the people of the town a group of them came across a baby in the street. The boy had dark tanned skin to match his brown eyes, and a mess of thick shadowed hair on his head. He lay undressed in the gutter, screaming non-stop, a look of such excruciating pain in his eyes that it hurt to look too closely.

The men lifted their swords to strike down at the child; the way they saw it, this was putting the dammed thing out of its misery, a kindness you might say.

The first sword made contact, cutting the child's chest, but it refused full penetration, sending the sword flying backwards out of its master's hands. Another struck, then another, none were successful.

Fearful looks were starting to appear in their eyes; the child would not die- this was a sign from the Gods, it had to be. They backed away quickly, apologising under their breath to the Gods above, begging forgiveness.

The other soldiers had been let in through the main gate, so the city was now swamped with Greek men. They would destroy the whole city to get what they wanted, and what they wanted was Helen- The woman made so perfect, Aphrodites herself was envious of her beauty.

The battle wore on but the newly awaken Trojans were largely outnumbered in soldiers; soon children and civilians joined the piles of bodies that were scattered throughout the streets. The more lives that were lost the clearer the cries of the baby, but no one had the time to worry about the child that wouldn't die at the moment.

Menelaus stormed the palace walls, his sword flourishing above his head, cutting away at anyone who got in his way, his men were behind him, but it would take them a while to catch up.

He leapt into the right window- he knew it was the right window, something about Helen was pulling him in that direction. He would kill her, slay the unfaithful wife who had left him for Paris (_note: Person not city)_.

He lifted the weapon above his head. She was there- covered by her travelling cloak, her back to them, facing her bed.

Paris threw himself into the room just as Menelaus' own men were beginning to flood in through the window. Paris was cut down in an instant.

With Paris dead all attention turned to Helen. A normal woman in such circumstances would of screamed or panicked- Helen did neither, but she turned, throwing back her cloak; the room froze over like ice, the beauty so strong it blunted all the swords in the room.

"My love!" Helen exclaimed, throwing her arms around her husband and kissing him, her body bending all over him in strange God like patterns. The sword shook in Menelaus' hand before it was dropped the the floor- he couldn't kill her.

The people of Greece left the ruins of Troy.

The baby that had cried throughout the battle had stopped, perhaps it had finally died?

"I heard a baby cry?" Helen commented, looking around at the masses of bodies piled high in the streets she passed.

"That was no child," one of the soldiers bowed low before her as he readied her horse. "It was a sign from the Gods that Troy was falling, and the baby died along with it." The other men looked impressed at this explanation, they nodded enthusiasticly, in awe of seeing a sign from the Gods with their very own eyes.

But the child was not dead, it had merely quietened to a whimper- Troy may have fallen but there was still a large amount of area around him that was steady. The pain of losing the city was strong, but not impossible to manage.

The storm had settled, now only a light wind washed the sands around the feet of the marching Greeks, returning home from the long war.

"What's that?" Helen brought her horse to a halt, pointing to a bump in the sand where something appeared to be sticking out. Menelaus dismounted his horse to peer closer at what had captured the woman's attention.

"I fear it is a dead baby my dear" Menelaus sighed, giving it a small poke with the end of his shoe. To everyone's surprise the child shivered, letting out a small cry.

Helen dashed off her horse, sweeping the baby into her arms, smoothing his brown hair against the back of his head. "He is a gift from the Gods!" She exclaimed, "See how he had survived here all night in the storm waiting to be found!"

Some stared in wonder, others bowed down before the calm looking baby; they could feel something emanating from the tiny body, this was something special.

They took the baby back with them to the palace, ordering the slaves to have him clouted, washed, and fed. The child behaved perfectly throughout all this, then sat peacefully in Helen's arms while she showed him off to the other women who had come to meet their husbands after the long war.

The baby cooed in all the right places, he didn't slobber or cry. The only fault he had if any was that despite Helen's endless grooming- two hairs on his head always stood up, curling to either side.

He reminded Helen a little of a woman she'd heard lived in the north of Greece; they said she could survive anything- just like this baby they'd found in the storm. It was well known this woman in the north was old but there was not a wrinkle on her perfectly smooth face. Helen's husband suggested that they take the child up to this woman, but Helen would not allow it; she had found this baby and she wanted to take care of it.

* * *

A few years later a baby was found by a traveller. The baby lay silently waiting amongst the ruins of Troy- unaged and unmoved from the day the Greeks had left him.

"Oh dear..." The traveller sighed, beaconing his wife and three daughters forward, he showed them the child. "I fear it may be lost to us..." He shook his head sadly.

As if to disprove this the baby gave a short, and a stubborn huff, banging its little fists on the ground.

"No daddy," his youngest daughter tugged on her father's sleeve, as her mother picked up the child, cradling him in her arms. "That baby is still alive" the daughter finished proudly, sticking her thumb in her mouth.

There were rumours of these strange children being found. One was left on the edge of the new city of Rome, another among the people of Egypt. The children seemed to hold a strange air about them, a powerful personality for ones so young. They also didn't seem to age alongside their adoptive carers.

It seemed Helen did not have to wait long until the woman from the north came to see her about the child. She sat down calmly opposite Helen in the greeting room, but she did not try to take the baby off the struggling woman.

"This is my grandson" the woman explained,

"I'm look after him" Helen growled, shooting to her feet to try and make herself look more threatening. The woman merely laughed.

"That's fine by me. But surely you must of noticed this child doesn't seem to be ageing?"

Helen nodded stiffly, patting the baby's head again, "his name's Hercules" Helen told her. The woman shrugged, getting to her feet.

"One day I will disappear and that child will take my place..." The woman glanced at the baby Hercules in Helen's arms once more, "when you are gone send him to me." That was all she said before quitting the palace.

But the baby did age, and in ten years he could toddle round the palace without aid, and ask for what he wanted from the slaves. Helen was overjoyed and showed him off at every occasion she could.

But Helen could not avoid the fact she was beginning to age- Her skin no longer as smooth as it had once been. So she prayed to the Gods for help.

One morning when Hercules and Menelaus awoke, they found Helen gone. She had been returned to the Gods, her beauty perfect in their memories for ever.

Menelaus saw Hercules sent off quickly. He disliked the boy who had taken his wife's attention just moments after he had gotten it back. But he could not strike the boy in anyway without offending the Gods.

He was glad to see the horse-drawn carriage pull away from the palace on its long journey north.


	3. Chapter 2

The other boy who had been found in the ruins of Troy had already grown to a possible six or seven years in appearance, but his adoptive parents just put the appearance down to being small for his age.

They had given him the name Sadik. Despite his appearance Sadik was a strong boy and worked hard, helping out his older sister who was still living with them; the other two had married other tradesmen- Occasionally they would see each other on the road, but there was often little time to stop and chat.

Sadik in the last few months had begun trying to cover his eyes with spare rags he found on the road; he would cut eye holes in them and tie it round the back of his head, so it was fixed like a mask.

"You're strange" the youngest of the sisters had always told him affectionately; she had always been his favourite of the three daughters. He knew she to would marry someday, then he'd marry and his wife would travel with his family until they were ready to take over the trade.

Sometimes Sadik awoke to strange nightmares where people screamed and ran as they were cut to the ground by Greek soldiers; men, woman, and children, they all fell at their hands- a whole city eliminated over night. But his mother would just tell him he was letting his imagination run wild, as little boys did. After that she stopped telling him stories of the fall of Troy, believing this was what was causing his sleeping problems.

But then again, sometimes he dreamt of other children. They all also looked really young for their age. There were four of them all together. They played in a vast field surrounded by trees where nobody could bother them.

However they seemed to play these games without speech, at least Sadik couldn't remember there being any speech in their games. When he went to sleep he would always tell himself to ask the other children's names, but when he arrived he promptly forgot what he was meant to.

The other children seemed so real. He couldn't believe his own imagination could of made them up; they had to be out there somewhere, he just knew it.

As the years progressed Sadik still didn't grow, or even seem to age; it was like his ageing had come to a perfect standstill at the appearance of a seven year old boy.

His parents seemed convinced he was sickening with something, or cursed. They took him to see healers, even the best ones in Greece. None of them seemed able to do anything.

But rumours began to reach them of a strange boy like Sadik who lived in North Greece with his grandmother, it was told that this boy didn't age either.

They travelled to Greece; the three of them (The last of his sisters had left home five years ago). They journeyed to the North of Greece to see whether this boy or his grandmother had any of the answers they were looking for.

Sadik wondered if this boy would be like one of the children from his dream, it would be nice to meet someone like that. But he felt guilty for being the cause that his parents had to travel all that way; they were not as young as they used to be. By this point they had been in high hopes that Sadik would have a wife who could care for them, but he still looked at the age where parents should take care of him.

He tried to help out by pulling the carriage with the donkey, insisting his parents rode with the stock, however the blazing heat from the sun alone was enough to exhaust anyone.

Every town they came across they would ask after the boy and his grandmother. They were getting closer and closer by the day.

The house they were finally directed to was as big as a palace; made of expensive looking white stone that shone in the sunlight, making it a beacon to any passing traveller.

His father redeemed it impossible to get in after a short study of the high gates. It was just as he was walking away his wife pointed behind him. Someone was leaving the house and making their way towards the gate.

"Your expected" the slave told them, bowing low before opening the gates and guiding them into the palace like building. He told them to wait in the entrance hall while he told his mistress they were there.

As they waited Sadik couldn't help but look around in wonder at the vast room; decorated with beautifully polished tiles, mosaic like floors that stopped only at the edges of the sparkling rain pool in the centre of the floor.

He wondered if houses back in his country were as full and rich looking as this. Sadik himself had never been inside a house before. He slept in their caravan, and played and worked on the road- after that the house seemed a little nauseating.

"My mistress will see you now," the slave reappeared in the entrance hall from a small door in the far corner; he bowed as the small family passed.

Sadik saw his parents exchange nervous glances, he couldn't understand their fears- a wave of excited adrenalin was washing over him.

He glanced around quickly upon entering the room; taking in every detail around him- including the small boy sitting on a chair near the door.

He didn't look any older than six, but Sadik could sense an older age coming from this boy. Like him.

The woman behind the desk looked up when they entered, she was gracefully young, her light brown eyes surveying Sadik curiously.

"Is this the child you wanted me to see?" She asked calmly, twitching her steady gaze once over to the boy who was sat in the corner scribbling hasty notes onto a sort of tablet.

Sadik's mother got to her feet unsteadily- shying back as the woman's gaze shifted to her.

"My son won't age; we have tried many healers all over Greece and our own country, but none seem to be able to do anything, we were advised to you..." She trailed off, forcing herself to return the woman's stare.

There was a short pause, even the other boy's scratching came to a halt. The silence made Sadik uncomfortable, he opened his mouth to speak, "I don't think there is anything wrong with me..." He just had to get this opinion across. To his relief the woman smiled gently.

"Of course there is nothing wrong with you. My name is Greece- or as some have begun calling me; Ancient Greece, and this is my successor and grandson the new Greece..."

She was cut off by a small murmur from Sadik's parents. "But Greece is a country not a name" they spoke quickly in hushed voices. At another time Sadik would of felt embarrassed by his parent's talk, but he too was curious.

"Have you heard of nations?" Ancient Greece spoke slowly, her eyes drifting back to Sadik, "...Sadik is not really your son is he..."

"What?" Sadik blinked, now he was confused, he turned to look at his parents; they had never mentioned anything like this to him before- this woman had to be mistaken... but why were they slowly beginning to nod?

"We found him in the ruins of the old city of Troy" his father spoke up, "he was only a baby, we assumed he must have been abandoned by his parents..."

Sadik was faintly aware that the boy, Greece was now shifting a little- the mention of Troy seemed to remind him of something, though the look on his face clearly showed he didn't know what.

"A nation is like a guardian over a country, they are more or less immortal and cannot be killed; their ageing patterns are different as well- my grandson is probably about the same age as Sadik here but he looks even younger..." Ancient Greece paused to see the effect of her words.

Sadik blinked a few times, trying to work out if he'd heard right; but his parents looked furious.

"Are you accusing our son? Our Son! Of being a freak!" His father was on his feet, blazing eyes fixed on the still perfectly calm woman.

"She didn't say freak dad..." Sadik tried to point out, trying to show his embarrassment to Ancient Greece and her grandson. The boy with the scratching pad still said nothing, though he was now surveying Sadik's parents with a steady disproving look.

"Sadik you don't believe this senile lady do you?" His mother grasped his shoulders, possibly a little tighter than she'd normally have done.

"I..." Sadik blinked around at the adults. To be completely honest he wasn't sure what to make of it all. He couldn't be something as special as a nation; but it was the only explanation he could find to not being able to age.

Before Ancient Greece could speak another word Sadik's parents had whisked him through the door and back out into the entrance hall.

"My mask!" Sadik realised with horror that he'd removed the rag he'd been wearing over his eyes when entering the room.

"You can make a new one when we get back to the caravan." His parents clearly wanted to leave the large house as quickly as possible.

"You forgot this..." The boy from the office hurried after them, Sadik's rag in one hand.

His parents watched on, helpless as Sadik rushed to meet the other boy in the middle of the room.

"Thank you" Sadik beamed, pleased to finally be able to hear the other boy speak.

"We'll meet again some day" Greece whispered, careful not to let Sadik's parents see that they were conversing, "I promise however long it takes, we'll see each other again."

With that Greece pulled back, leaving the rag in Sadik's hands, he ran back to his grandmother's office.

Sadik felt a small smile come over him, "I'll see you then" he grinned after the retreating figure.

"Come on!" He was finally pulled from the house.


	4. Chapter 3

**1200 BC – Greeks migrate to Turkey bringing maths and science**

Sadik's parents had finally reached the age where they were no longer capable of running their own business, and their 'son' had still not aged.

The younger sister of the sisters and her husband had stepped in to run the business and take care of their parents.

They had two annoying children of about six that Sadik didn't like too much, but he knew his parents and sister still loved and needed him, so he put up with it.

Finally the day came when his mother and father passed away peacefully in their sleep, and Sadik's sister's husband took over the business completely.

Any earnings they had generally were invested in hair brained schemes, spent on drink, or lost in gambling. But he'd always return home with gifts for Sadik's sister and their children. He didn't like Sadik, he made no secret of that.

By this point his sister had four children and the eldest had grown up past Sadik's physical age, because of this they seemed to feel they were able to boss him about.

"Sadik go and fetch some water from the well in town would you," one of them looked up lazily, flicking Sadik away as if he were some irritating fly that refused to pick up the message that he wasn't wanted.

"You go" Sadik retorted, carrying on with the mask he was trying to perfect. Recently he'd gotten hold of some new firmer white material that stayed in place better.

"Sadik!" His sister's husband had just appeared on the scene, eyes blazing.

Deciding today wasn't the day to argue, Sadik scattered, seizing the bucket as he went. He might as well fill up the thing while he was out, though he didn't plan on coming home any time soon.

"Θα ήθελα ένα δωμάτιο για ένα παρακαλώ" He could already hear a man arguing with another. The town was a lot more packed than usual, with people he didn't recognise milling around with luggage.

"Θα ήθελα ένα δωμάτιο για ένα παρακαλώ!" tha man repeated again, frustration growing in his voice.

"I don't understand!" The inn keeper was shouting back.

To Sadik this didn't make any sense, the other man seemed easy enough for him to understand.

"He wants a room for one please" Sadik gave the inn keeper's robe a small tug. The inn keeper and man nodded thankfully, both seeming to of understood what Sadik had said.

He left them, shrugging as he moved his way towards the well.

There were other caravans parked a little way off from the well, Sadik wondered if they were other traders, it was strange to see so many of them.

One of the doors to the grander looking caravans opened; a boy maybe two years younger than Sadik emerged and looked around. Even from this distance Sadik could make out his gentle green eyes, surveying the scene for something.

"Can I help you?" Sadik called out, hoping to introduce himself to this new trader, he could do with someone to play with for a bit.

The boy looked up at him, then smiled, rushing towards him. As he drew closer Sadik recognised him- the boy from all those years ago when he'd gone to visit that grand house with his parents.

"Greece?" Sadik blinked carefully at him, as the other boy seized his hand and began pulling him towards his caravan.

"What are you doing here?" Sadik wondered aloud, as Greece finally released his hand, closing the door behind them looking excited,

"I came here to teach you, just like my people have come to teach yours. Grandmother wanted somebody to keep an eye on them for a few decades to make sure they settle in, so I thought I'd teach you too."

Sadik could clearly see that the other boy had been busy preparing teaching equipment on what must have been a long journey.

"But first," Greece sat him down, "I want to know how you've been getting along these last few years?"

Sadik found it was a lot easier to talk to this boy than he'd first imagined, but it still felt strange addressing him as Greece all the time.

"Do you have a real name?" Sadik asked, flushing with embarrassment, "I mean... A human name?"

Greece tilted his head on one side as though trying to remember something, then he nodded, "Helen named be Hercules, but grandmother doesn't like me using that name..." Greece looked a little depressed for a moment,

"Well then I'll call you that" Sadik smiled, "we're friends now, right?"

Sadik hadn't realised that those words meant as much to Hercules as they did to him. The slightly younger nation's eyes filled with tears, a large smile of happiness spreading over his face.

"That's right, we are" he nodded, grasping Sadik's hands in his own, "and you'll come back everyday so I can teach you, right? And we can talk and play too,"

"I'll see you tommorow" Sadik promised, glancing out of the caravan window at the dark sky, "but I'd better get back."

Hercules nodded in understanding, watching Sadik rush from the caravan. His heart gave a small jump of happiness, he didn't know how long his grandmother would let him stay, but maybe he'd be able to persuade Sadik to come back to Greece with him, and then his Grandmother could teach them both.

He waited eagerly the next morning for Sadik to return, but it wasn't until after midday Sadik finally arrived looking apologetic and worse for wear. He had a small cut above his left eye that was trickling blood freely over his white mask, looking a little like he was crying blood.

"What happened!" Hercules was on him within seconds, pulling a clean rag from a draw, thrusting it into the bucket of water the slaves had brought round this morning.

Without asking permission he pulled Sadik's mask from his face, tossing it to the floor so he could see to his friend's eye.

"My sister's husband wasn't to happy to see me back late last night, he was even more unhappy to find me sneaking off this morning," he indicated his eye, "but don't worry it'll heal by itself in a few hours."

He gently took Hercules' hands from his face, to show him the cut was already bigging to scab over. "Didn't you know we could do that?" Sadik looked at Hercules carefully,

"I don't think I've ever been injured..." The Greek admitted, touching the skin above his own eye carefully, "so I wouldn't know..." He then looked angry, "how many times has this happened to you!"

"My whole life" Sadik laughed at the other boy's sudden ferocity, "as a trading family you could get jumped any minuet, and ever since my sister's family came to stay..." Sadik trailed off, changing the subject quickly, "there was something I wanted to ask you," he admitted, "the day I met you again there were people arguing in the street it seemed like they couldn't understand each other, but they sounded like they were speaking the same language to me?"

Hercules' face lit up again, "I can help you there, you see in actual fact we're speaking an ancient language that we were born to speak, it means we can be understood by all and speak every language as if it were the same, unless we chose for you not to understand."

"How might you do that?" Sadik asked curiously, he was eager to know this, it sounded quite fun,

"I'll show you" Hercules nodded, putting on a face of concentration, "Μπορείτε να το καταλάβετε αυτό?"

Sadik gave him a blank look, that was strange, he'd never heard another language before now.

Hercules breathed in heavily, relaxing, "grandmother says it gets easier as we get older, but I don't know how old I'll have to be..."

But Sadik wasn't listening, he was concentrating hard now as well, trying to pick out individual words in his own language and speak them and them alone.

"Nasıl bu?" Sadik forced out with all his energy,

"There you go!" Hercules beamed proudly, "you did it."

Sadik felt a whelm of pride inside himself he liked to feel he was still learning more.

The two boys settled down so Hercules could show him how to count in his own language, he explained that once Sadik knew the basics he could make up his own name for numbers. Sadik could already remember some he was sure were already around, but they didn't go nearly as high as Hercules'.

Over the next few years (during which time his sister's husband didn't bother to move the caravan) Sadik spent every day with Hercules. They didn't always teach each other things about their culture or knowledge, they would go out most of the time and play by the fountain.

Sadik was sure over the years they spent together that Hercules was ageing a little bit more every year. Maybe they might even be the same age when Hercules finally had to go.

The townspeople seemed found of them, Sadik and Hercules had helped out around town with translation problems for the first few months of Hercules' people settling in.

"There they go" one shopkeeper smiled affectionately as Hercules and Sadik both went racing past in the direction of the fountain.

"The Trouble Two" a woman smirked, pulling a loaf of bread out of her basket and handing it to them, "keep out of trouble, you hear me."

It was a little easier at home now that three out of four of his sister's children had left home. Sadik knew Hercules wanted him to return with him to Greece but he couldn't leave his sister, he knew before her husband had him to pick on he used to beat her too, and unlike her he wouldn't scar. As long as she was alive he'd stay, but after that, who knows.

"Αναπάντητες" _missed _Hercules laughed as Sadik made a lunge for him. The two had been practising speaking in their own language alone and were both getting pretty good at it.

"Seni yakalamak izin verirseniz o zaman tüm gece dışarıda kalacağım" _If you let me catch you I will stay out all night_ Sadik laughed, knowing Hercules wouldn't understand him, there was no way he'd be able to risk staying out all night.

"Speak normal now" Hercules grinned, swinging round a pillar that some of his people had built a few years ago.

"Okay" Sadik nodded, ruffling the other boy's long brown hair. He tapped the two twin curls on top of Hercules' head, turning round to show him the back of his own head. "Snap" he smirked, showing him the matching curl growing at the back of his head rather than the top.

"I wonder if all nations have curls like that?" Hercules thought out loud, "it would definitely make them easier to spot,

"Your grandmother doesn't have one does she?" Sadik asked, Hercules shook his head,

"I don't think so..."

"I can't remember the other children having them either..." Sadik closed his mouth quickly, he'd never told Hercules about the dreams he'd used to have about playing with the other children, where he'd first met Greece.

"You had those dreams too?" Hercules seemed to guess what he was referring too, "grandmother mentioned you might have..."

"That means the others must have had them as well..." Sadik felt whipped up excitement pumping through his body, "I wonder if we'll ever meet them properly; I recall there was that one with the messy brown hair and cheeky grin..."

"That's Rome" Hercules nodded, "I have met him, but only once, he came to visit my grandmother, he looks a lot older than us, she said he grew to quickly, but only when he wasn't around to hear it."

"Do you know of the others?" Sadik prodded with curiosity,

"Rome often spoke of a boy with long blond hair in the north, Germania... And I've heard stories of another civilisation, grandmother knows the nation, but she said she's calling herself Ancient Egypt now, maybe the other nation is the new Egypt?"

Sadik nodded, "that would make sense, I wonder how many of us are there?"

"There could just be us five around this area, or there could be forty-six, or more..."

"There could never be forty-six" Sadik laughed, "we wouldn't all fit."


	5. Chapter 4

One morning Sadik had reported his sister was ill, only to come back the next week to tell him that she'd fully recovered.

Despite himself Hercules couldn't help but wish the Turk's sister would just snuff it. She was the only thing tying Sadik to that awful bastard she'd married.

He looked across the caravan at Sadik stood by one of the windows, watching the rain go past. He was pretty sure they'd levelled out in age by now, he also knew his grandmother would be calling him back very soon.

"I'm returning to Greece soon," Hercules spoke with almost a plead in his voice, "will you please consider coming with me?"

Sadik was already shaking his head before the full question had been phrased, "you know I can't" he sighed, "besides," he grinned, "weren't you the one who told me we'd meet again however long it took?"

"Yes but..."

"Come on, we're immortal, it may take another fifty, it could take hundreds of years, but we'll see each other again no matter what."

Hercules felt himself rise to his feet, walking over to the window where Sadik stood.

"I'll miss you if you don't come with me..." He mumbled, flicking the side of Sadik's recently perfected mask.

The other boy swept forwards hugging his friend to his chest, they were level in height now, so it didn't feel quite so clumsy. "I _will _see you again" Sadik insisted, he pulled away, "until then you need to think of something more to teach me, hey, maybe next time I'll visit your country?"

Hercules sniffed, trying to rub his eyes dry before any tears could fall, "I'd like that" he sniffed.

**1100 BC – A colony is establish in Southern Iberia (Spain)**

Marina struggled to her feet, blinking rapidly against the sun. The group of people she was travelling hadn't been able to stop for food or rest since they'd left the nearest settlement a few days ago.

A few people had collapsed of exhaustion or hunger. The people had helped who they could, but were sometimes forced to leave them.

They had to be coming to somewhere soon...

But looking out over the roaring sands it didn't look to likely.

Marina was a young woman of maybe eighteen- she'd lost count at her sixteenth birthday. She'd started this journey with her father but he'd died about a month ago after they'd had to walk days with very little water.

"We've got something!" A man at the front suddenly yelled back down the line, his voice ecstatic with excitement and relief. "I can make out a river, and there are some stones and plants around."

Marina caught her breath in her throat, was this it, what they'd been looking for?

Like all the other travellers she suddenly began running, fighting to get over the hill to be one of the first to see their new home.

As she ran she wondered if perhaps the man had seen a mirage and her heart plummeted, but she shook her head again; she had to believe it was there.

When she arrived over the hill it was.

First the people set about drinking from the river and eating what little food they had left before one of their leaders began issuing out jobs for people to do to start the construction.

Marina had been assigned scouting duty with some of the other women, it was their job while the men were building and ploughing the land to search for better land or places that should be avoided.

Over the next few weeks Marina enjoyed exploring their vast new land; she'd found various areas like another river they could use if the first dried up. This was her favourite part of her new settlement.

The river almost seemed to whisper stories to her as she sat beside it and watched the fish jumping in the fresh water.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a small cry. Snapping back to reality Marina looked around for one of the mother's in their group of travellers that might have spotted her slacking off, but no one was around.

She could no longer hear crying, though she could make out a strange cheerful gurgling noise coming from the direction of the reeds.

She crept a little closer, wondering if it was some sort of undiscovered creature that they could eat.

Pulling the reads apart curiously, she looked down.

A baby was lying on its back on a nest of reeds peering up at her, a good natured smile on its face as if to say 'about time'. But that was the strange thing... Babies as young as this couldn't smile, but this one was...

Carefully Marina picked him up, unable to stop herself grinning as it gave a delighted whoop, snuggling into her chest, clinging to her shirt. There was no way she could put him down now; she had no choice but to return to camp with him and see what the leaders thought.

She was aware as she entered the village of all the people staring at her and the baby.

Her friend Adana came to meet her staring at the baby warily.

"Where did you find that?" She asked, moving herself out of reach of the baby's flailing hands that seemed determined to grab and hug anything smaller than it.

"It's not yours is it?" Adana turned her suspicion now onto her friend, relieved to see Marina swatting at her,

"Of course not, I found him abandoned while on my searches" Marina explained, pushing past Adana to the leader's house (they'd finished building most of the houses a few days ago).

She found him already waiting for her outside his house. Looking at the baby expectantly, Marina explained her story to him, trying to keep the baby's hands under control- they were etching riskily close to the leader's beard.

"I don't see any harm in you keeping it" the leader admitted, "as long as you take care of it while carrying out your normal duties,"

"I will sir!" Marina exclaimed thankfully, "thank you very much!"

He smiled, "now be off with you, that child is probably hungry."

Hungry was right, it seemed the child had decided he was old enough to be off milk and had eaten his way through Marina's store cupboard before falling soundly asleep.

Exhausted, Marina sat set him down on her bed, lying next to the baby to watch him sleep. She needed to think of a name for him. Antonio sounded good to her.

Kissing the child's forehead she whispered his new name to him before drifting off into her own sleep.

As much as Marina would have liked to say the child grew to be a great help to the new settlement, he didn't, in fact he didn't really grow much at all.

In the ten years Marina had raised him he had progressed no further than a toddler. Though his vocabulary seemed to be coming along well, very well if you counted how young he looked.

"Tomato please," Antonio held out his tiny fist, balancing dangerously on his tip toes, reaching up to Marina who was doing the dishes.

He was the one who had first started calling the new berries they'd bred Tomatoes, and everybody else just seemed to have copied him.

Antonio had taken a particular fancy to Tomatoes, and almost ate nothing else.

The people of the settlement grew weary of Marina and the child who wouldn't grow. Some muttered the child was a curse, sent by druids from the north to plague them all.

When Marina heard this she would only sweep back Antonio's dark brown hair and tell everyone he looked like any other toddler she'd seen.

She had managed to fashion herself a sort of baby carrier she could put on her back to hold Antonio while she worked on the fields. Most of the time he'd sleep at midday so wasn't much trouble like Marina had first worried he'd be.

It was her old friend Adana who came to find her on the field that tenth year. Ever since Marina had brought the baby home Adana had had nothing to do with her. She'd married one of the farmers Marina worked with- a nasty man, who seemed to glare in a dangerous way at Antonio every time he saw the child.

"There's a strange man looking for you," Adana pointed to the edge of the farm, where Marina could just about make out three figures silhouetted against the afternoon sun.

"What does he want?" Marina asked, shifting the basket Antonio was in off her back to rest on the ground behind her.

"He wants to talk to you about _that_ baby you found." Marina didn't miss the disdain in Adana's voice.

Placing the scythe down Marina followed Adana to the edge of the farm, leaving Antonio under a nearby tree in the shade.

Her heart began pumping quickly as she got closer, the full idea of Adana's words hitting her; this man was here to talk about Antonio, was he going to take him away, or worse... What did he want with him.

As she got closer she could see the sun sparkling off his golden armour, his feather capped helmet under his arm to reveal a mess of brown hair. He had to be Roman by the looks of him, but he seemed to radiate something that Marina had never felt before, a sort of awe captivating feeling, but it warned of danger too.

When he saw her coming he turned and smiled. He'd been talking to two of the town elders, one of which was the one who had allowed Antonio to stay when she'd first turned up with him.

"Good afternoon to you miss" the man walked out to meet her, "my name is Roman Empire."

The settlement's elders looked just as baffled as Marina felt, "Roman Empire?"

He shook his head, "surly you've heard of nations out here?" He blinked round at the blank faces, "really?"

"What are nations?" Marina wasn't sure what this had to do with Antonio,

"We are the representatives of countries, we appear as children at the establishment of a country. So far we know of seven different nations, belonging to five different countries. This baby you've found I believe could be another..." He looked hopefully over Marina's shoulder, "may I meet him?"

"I suppose..." Marina shrugged suspiciously, not moving from the spot. She could see Adana looking over her shoulder too, although Marina wasn't sure why.

"How old does he look?" Roman Empire pressed, looking curiously at Adana too.

"About three at most I'd say" Marina told him, "though I found him ten years ago when we first settled here..."

There was a sudden scream from behind them in the field. There were sounds coming from the direction where Marina had left Antonio.

"No..." Marina breathed, the sun's heat suddenly feeling warmer than it had done before, everything seemed to stop. She could faintly make out a satisfactory look coming from Adana, who seemed to have been expecting the sound.

Marina felt the Roman's strong hands steady her, he was calling something to her, but his voice sounded so distant Marina couldn't work out what it was he was trying to communicate.

"He's gone now Marina!" Adana smirked, "he was cursed you know it, how can someone not age and not be!"

Everything suddenly seemed to snap back again as Roman Empire snapped back his reply, "Miss I am well over three hundred years old and I don't look it!"

Noticing Marina was suddenly listening he pointed at the field.

Reluctantly following his finger Marina looked over the field. A boy was making his way towards them, a large scythe clutched in his hands; he must be one of the working boys, Marina thought bitterly.

But he was coming towards them. As he drew nearer Marina saw the blood splattered across his chest and face, a wide, proud looking grin underneath all the scarlet liquid.

"I got bigger mum" he beamed, holding out the blooded scythe for her to examine. "That man tried to slice me with it," he indicated his blooded chest and torn shirt, "but I got it off him and cut him down with it instead."

Adana gave a shrill scream, flinging herself at the child.

Roman Empire pulled her back, looking hard at the eerie looking eight year old. The smile on his face, behind the blood, and under the green adder like eyes showed a thick fog of danger and an unstable mind.

He watched the adults curiously, trying to pass the scythe to Marina again.

"What's wrong mum?" He asked, looking at the Roman man.

"ᚹᚻᚪᛏ ᛁᛇ ᛏᚻᛁᛇ ᛗᚪᚾ ᛞᚩᛁᛝ ᚻᛖᚱᛖ?" The boy's tongue seemed to twist round the words as he looked at Roman Empire as if he thought they could understand him.

The onlookers watched as Roman Empire replied with a smile on his face, "ᛁ ᚪᛗ ᚪᚠᚱᛁᛖᚾᛞ ᚩᚠ ᚣᚩᚢᚱ ᛗᚩᛏᚻᛖᚱ'ᛇ"

The boy nodded, this answer seemed to suit him.

"That's okay then" he beamed, forcing the scythe again into Marina's hands, "don't you recognise me?" He asked, "it's me Antonio."

_Authors note: I am aware that I am using Anglo-Saxon runes but I couldn't find another unknown alphabet that I could copy._

_Antonio: What is this man doing here?_

_Roman Empire: I am a friend of your mother's_


	6. Chapter 5

Marina assumed she must have fainted at some point because when she woke up she was lying in bed with Roman Empire and Antonio looking over her; she shook her head, no, it wasn't Antonio.

She knew it wasn't Antonio... But the boy looked so alike. Now the blood had been washed off him she could see the lightly tanned skin, dark green eyes, and encouraging smile.

"Is it really Antonio?" She whispered, trying to sit up; Roman Empire placed a gentle hand on her to lower her again,

"It is me" the boy insisted, "I just grew, like you always wanted me to."

Marina reached out her arms, grateful to feel Antonio return the hug happily.

Roman Empire watched them a moment, a smile on his own face.

"You know, two others I know have children to take care of, it's a duty only some nations will take on. I'll probably never have a chance too though..." He looked regretfully away from them, then threw his head back at them again, an even bigger grin on his face, "I'll just stay here a while to teach Antonio some lessons, it seems like he has trouble being understood when talking to other nations," he ruffled Antonio's hair.

"ᚪᛗ ᛁ?" Antonio blinked up at the older nation,

Roman Empire laughed, giving Marina a 'what did I tell you' look. "Yes you really are."

After that Roman Empire just seemed to start living with them. He never brought any soldiers, and he sent all of his work from their house to Rome by messenger whenever a group was passing by in that direction.

Antonio loved Roman Empire's lessons, he taught him how to focus one language all the time, and showed him how to speak only in Spanish, he even taught him a little Latin, "for emergencies" Roman Empire had said.

"Will more of us keep getting born?" Antonio asked one afternoon, while the whole family were relaxing on Marina's day off.

Roman Empire only shrugged, "that Spain is one thing I don't know."

'Spain' was what Roman Empire had called him, and he seemed very reluctant to call Antonio by his human name, though that was how Marina still referred to him.

"I suppose as long as land keeps being divided then yes, new nations will be born, but currently it looks like all the land around here is taken."

He pulled out a map he'd been drawing to show Marina and Antonio. He pointed to the lower right that covered a large space of land, "That belongs to Turkey."

He moved his finger along to the areas around Rome and to the left, "the Roman Empire" he beamed proudly, then to the right where another land mass lay, "Greece."

Below Greece Antonio learned of Egypt, Roman Empire also pointed out where he was. Then he came to the last part of the map, the areas in the North, "and those are Germania's, the land looks vast, but I warn you it's barren and dangerous, raked with savages."

Antonio shivered, looking down at the map. Germania seemed so close to him. He must have powerful armies with such a vast land. But when he suggested this Roman Empire only laughed,

"That land will never be able to do anything against my land" he announced proudly, "if Germania ever starts to threaten you then I'll be over in a jiffy," he winked in Marina's direction, she blushed, checking to see whether Antonio had noticed, and either he hadn't, or didn't care.

No one in the newly established town bothered them now. A blind eye seemed to have been turned on Antonio's killing, the leaders had dismissed it as self defence.

Although Marina got a little older every year, her two house companions didn't. Every morning Marina tried to convince herself Antonio looked just a little bit taller, or tougher, but she was sure he never was.

"Are you okay mum?" Flustered with embarrassment Marina looked up from the ground. She'd just been sick round the back of the house. "You look ill, should I get Mr Rome?"

"No, I'm fine..." Marina tried to reassure him before throwing up again. She was feeling a little queezy, maybe she should lie down for a bit.

She followed Antonio into the house where he set about trying to find her a tomato to make her feel better.

Rome walked in on them. He took one look at the flustered Antonio, then at Marina's pale face before bolting from the door, calling back about fetching a doctor.

Antonio had to stay outside while the doctor worked. To be completely honest he was a little relieved, he hated watching doctors work, he didn't trust them one bit.

Rome was pacing the hallway back and forth in front of him, stopping every now and then to knock on the door and ask how things were going.

"Will she die?" Antonio let out a whimper, looking down at his feet, worried what he might hear.

He heard Rome give a small chuckle, reaching out a big hand to ruffle his hair, "no, I'm pretty sure she won't die."

Suddenly the door opened, the doctor stepped out, closing the door behind him. "I've ordered her to sleep," he motioned to Rome, whispering something in his ear.

Antonio watched a wide grin spread over Rome's face, and he knew nothing was wrong, but then what was it?

When the doctor had gone Antonio voiced his question. Rome still had a dopey look on his face; Antonio had to repeat the question quite a few times before Rome replied. "She's pregnant..." He sounded almost in a dream.

Pregnant? Antonio looked back at the bedroom. Pregnant meant a baby. Antonio smiled, feeling Rome's pleasure, Children looked really sweet, of course people in the town never let him near theirs, it would be nice to finally be able to play with one.

Maybe this meant Rome would stay with them forever, and they'd all live together with the baby in the town. Maybe the baby would be a nation like them, then they really could be together forever.

But it was not to last. The baby was born, it was a girl, Marina named her Aidia. And although she wasn't a nation Antonio and Rome still loved her.

Not long after Aidia was born Rome received a message calling him back home, the Emperor told him he'd been away to long and had to return.

Rome had no choice in the matter, he had to leave them.

After he left Marina fell into a dark state. She didn't cook, she didn't clean the house, she didn't even clean herself or Aidia.

Slowly Antonio found himself taking care of the baby and the house. He almost had to force Marina to feed her new baby.

After what seemed like an age Aidia started eating the crushed up food Antonio offered her. While this made things a little easier, Antonio also found it meant he spent less and less time with Marina; she kept getting thinner, he couldn't get her to eat however many interesting meals he made.

It was five years after Aidia's birth the doctor was called to Marina's fever, he couldn't save her. He told Antonio that she had just lost the will to live.

"Where's mummy gone?" Aidia took his hand at the funeral, watching her mother's body being paraded through town.

"She's had to go away" Antonio whispered, looking round at the cold eyes on them, "she can't come back, but she'll always be watching us..."

He really didn't like the looks the people were giving him and Aidia. While he knew they couldn't harm him, he worried for Aidia.

That night he gathered together what little he could carry, bundled Aidia into his arms and left the house where he had made his home for so many years. Half of him still hoped Aidia's father would come back, but it didn't look like that was going to happen.

When Aidia woke up the next day she didn't ask any questions, and walked most of the way. Not once did she ask him why they'd left, or where they were going. He had the nagging feeling that through that young innocent face she knew the reasons.

That's how they had to live.

As Aidia grew Antonio told her stories of her father, and of the wonders of Rome where he lived.

"Why can't we go and visit him?" Aidia asked as she got older, almost approaching Antonio's physical age – He had perhaps grown in appearance to about the age of ten after Marina had died, but since then, nothing.

Aidia grew into a beautiful young woman; with her mother's looks, and her father's charisma. Antonio fretted over her constantly, knowing he couldn't protect her if someone tried to jump her, luckily Aidia seemed to be able to take care of herself.

The she took a man back with her.

"Hi, I'm Markus," the dark haired Roman held out his hand for Antonio to shake, "Aidia tells me you're her little brother?"

Thinking quickly Antonio nodded. Aidia knew what he was, and he didn't blame her for not telling this man she'd found unconscious on the road.

Markus explained he was a soldier of the Roman army, but he'd argued with the commander and had fled for his life to Spain. Aidia took pity on him, begging Antonio in secret to let him travel with them.

Antonio felt he had to agree, because he was sure Aidia wouldn't take no for an answer, she seemed very found of this man.

That's how they all began travelling together.

It became obvious to the Roman soldier that Aidia's 'little brother' wasn't growing, Antonio was pretty sure the Roman's knew what nations were and was grateful Markus never brought it up.

Within a few years Aidia was pregnant, her stomach swelling while she and Markus discussed names.

"I think it should be Feliciano if it's a boy" Markus smiled, rubbing her stomach lovingly, "that was my father's name,"

"and if it's a girl?" Aidia giggled, "I shall name it."

The couple laughed as Antonio watched them from afar. He was happy there was going to be another baby he could play with, they got so tiresome when they grew up.

A sudden yelp came from down by the fire where Markus and Aidia were sitting, bringing Antonio from his dreams.

"The baby's coming!" Markus motioned towards Antonio in panic, as he helped brace Aidia for the delivery.

She was screaming, much more than Marina had done when Aidia had been born. Although Antonio hadn't witnessed Aidia's birth, he was sure there wasn't supposed to be that much blood. But she was still pushing bravely on, ignoring the thick tears that welled in her eyes.

A sudden cry emitted. Antonio saw Markus cut something from the baby before passing him to Antonio.

Aidia was still red in the face, crying and screaming, it seemed another was still coming.

The baby in Antonio's arms was crying, his face bright red like a tomato. Despite himself Antonio chuckled, bouncing the baby up and down.

The screaming from both child and mother stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

Aidia looked weak and tired, she was still bleeding heavily but clutching her youngest new born to her chest while Antonio held the other.

"This one will be Feliciano" she smiled, passing the baby to Markus before her eyes flickered shut, never to open again.

Markus fell to her side snuggling Feliciano to his chest, crying bitterly, while the baby in his arms mewed softly.

"Lovino" Antonio whispered into the older twin's ear, "do you like the sound of that?"

Honestly the baby looked nothing less than sulky but he seemed to give an affirmative sniff. He peered closer at Lovino in his arms, he could feel something from both twins, it felt like something he'd only ever felt of one other person he'd met.

"You're one of us aren't you?"

Almost as the words were out of his mouth he heard the sound of bracken under foot, they were being approached...

"Yes they are aren't they," Antonio and Markus spun round to see a man stood before them, his cold eyes for a moment rendering him unrecognisable.

"Rome?" Antonio looked guiltily over his shoulder at the nation's dead daughter, but the older nation didn't even seem to care. He clicked his fingers at Markus,

"Give that baby to me, I'll take care of it better."

Markus clutched Feliciano closer to his chest, determination in his eyes as his old nation approached him.

"They are my grandchildren," Rome brushed Markus away as though he were nothing, "may I remind you that your wanted in Rome for fighting with a commander, I believe I am letting you off lightly!" Rome's voice suddenly turned to anger, he struck Markus across the face, snatching Feliciano from him.

He then turned, walking past Antonio as he left the makeshift camp where the small family had set up for the night, unknowing of what was about to take place.

As he passed Antonio couldn't help but call out, "what about him?" He held up the older of the twins, but Rome grunted, taking one look at the red grumpy face,

"Who'd want him?" With that he was gone.

Markus, Lovino, and Antonio were left alone. A horrible silence followed Rome's departure, no one spoke, even the previously mumbling baby had fallen silent, then he began to cry softly, tiny fist trying to cling to Antonio's shirt.

"It's okay" Antonio mumbled, trying to comfort the baby without disturbing the grief stricken father.

"Give me my baby..." The words were so quiet Antonio almost missed them; Markus hadn't moved a muscle but his words came clearer the second time. "Or are you going to take that one?" He gave a sarcastic chuckle, "isn't that what you nations do? Claim what isn't yours!" With his last words he lunged at Antonio, almost pulling the small boy to the ground.

Lovino bust into violent sobs, eyes wide and terrified as he looked on at his father.

"Give him to me!" Markus almost yelled.

Knowing he couldn't argue Antonio blinked down at Lovino gently caressing the faint trace of dark brown hair, "goodbye" he whispered, handing the baby over and muttering, "his name is Lovino."

With a sound like a whip Markus struck him across the face, bringing stinging tears to Antonio's eyes. "I'll call him what I want!" He turned in the opposite direction that Rome had gone, taking the baby and most of the supplies with him.

"I'll see you again" Antonio called softly after Lovino, a dark shadow crossing his face, "he'll be dead one day, and we'll meet again."

He had to make his way alone now. In the short space of half and hour he had lost everything he had. Marina was dead, as was her daughter; and the new nations had been taken away by their father and grandfather.

Turning away from the camp, with his face still stinging, he had to face the truth; he wasn't Antonio any more, he was a nation, Spain.


	7. Chapter 6

**770 BC – First Olympic Games**

Greece was almost stood on tip toe, trying to over look the busy crowd that had gathered around Athens.

His grandmother was holding his hand tightly, almost as if she expected him to rush off and get lost in the mass of people.

She'd agreed to let him invite Sadik, even if it was only for him to watch. Greece hadn't seen him in several hundred years, since they parted when he had to go home after visiting the Turk's country.

Irritatingly enough he hadn't grown since then either- he only seemed to grow when he was away from his grandmother, which was hardly ever...

"I'm looking for a small boy, brown hair, with a sort of curl at the top?" Greece pricked up his ears, straining as far away from Ancient Greece as he could, to look round one of the athletes in front of him.

A mid-teenage boy was asking one of the on lookers, who was shaking his head in confusion.

"Sadik!" Greece yelled, ignoring what Ancient Greece had said about using nation's human names. The boy looked up, turning to beam at Greece, before rushing towards him.

He looked at least five years older than Greece now.

"Haven't grown much have you?" He smirked, giving a small nod to Ancient Greece before bending down to ruffle Greece's hair. "I saw a market on the way here, do you want to go and have a look with me?"

Greece looked up pleadingly at his grandmother, who half heartedly released his hand, muttering a few warning words to Sadik- who looked like he wasn't listening.

"Come on then," he tugged at Greece's hand the moment his grandmother had stopped speaking. The two disappeared off together into the crowd.

"So how have you been?" Sadik smiled, slowing down a little so he wasn't pulling the younger looking boy any more.

"Fine" Greece nodded, "you?"

Sadik beamed, he didn't seem to find the conversation awkward after such a long time. "I've moved into the palace with the Sultan now, are you still living in that house with your Grandma?"

Greece nodded, feeling a slight train of embarrassment. He wanted to live in palace, with independence like Sadik. But his grandmother was still clutching to him as though he were breakable.

He knew that once this event was over, he and Ancient Greece would return to their house, with no company except the servants.

**497 BC – The start of the Persian wars (Involved the area now known as Turkey)**

The whole palace was silent. A thick air hung over the graciously decorated walls. Ancient Greece had taken to her room, and the king was in the war room with his advisers.

They'd moved into the palace in the last hundred years, no longer able to deny they weren't needed there.

Greece sat in the entrance hall looking up at the statue of himself as a baby and Helen of Troy, it was the only part of the palace he still recognised from when he had first lived here.

He'd been told to play while the adults were busy, but he wasn't the type of child who simply ran off to play with toy soldiers, especially on his own.

He lightly fingered the curl at the back of his parting, it was the only part of him that was still the same as what was depicted in the statue.

In five hundred years he'd grown by ten. For a moment he felt relieved he was never really allowed to get to know people. Looking at Sadik, he could see how many people you could lose that you loved.

He heard the door to the war room open. The statesman walked out rubbing his temple worriedly, murmuring to himself. He stopped when he saw the little nation watching him at the front of the entrance hall.

"What's happening?" Greece asked, fixing his leader with a look that meant he wanted the straightforward truth.

"We're at war" he sighed, moving over to talk to Greece properly,

"Who with?" Greece blinked up at him, mentally searching the list of other nations he'd heard of, but he couldn't really believe any of them were capable.

"Remember that friend you have in the east?"

Greece tilted his head in thought. The east? He only knew one nation in the east, but that was ridiculous, he wouldn't.

"We're at war with Persia, and that means your friend who calls himself Turkey."

For a moment it seemed like the walls of the palace were shaking. His mouth fell open in shock, it couldn't be true. Why would Sadik be at war with them!

The shock began to pass, anger replacing it, the horrid feeling that he'd been stabbed in the back, betrayed!

He turned to his leader, face firm, "I want to fight," his voice made it sound more like an order than a request. If Sadik was attacking them, they he wanted to be at the first level of defence.

At first the statesman looked unsure then he nodded, resting his hand on Greece's shoulder,

"We'll be happy to have you."

~/~

As he stood on the battlefield Greece grew aware that he could feel every one of his heart beats. He was surrounded by soldiers, some young, some old. Everyone was here to defend their country. He was also aware that many of them seemed to be surrounding him protectively as well.

The Persians still hadn't arrived. Greece found himself wondering whether Sadik would also be among his people fighting.

A sudden blow from a horn sounded the far sighting of the opposing army, all around him soldiers seemed to charge in motion, swords high above their heads, charging to the strong likelihood of their death.

The young nation ran with them, driving his sword into every Persian he came across, searching for someone who looked a little like the boy who had last held his hand at an event.

He felt the enemy swords cut against him, it hurt no more than brushing against a thorn bush.

Then he felt a powerful hand seize him round the scruff, hosting him out of the rabble, high above the ground.

"Let me go!" Greece twisted violently, lashing out with his sword, catching his captor on the arm.

He felt himself drop as the man let in a vicious intake of pain.

Greece ran, dodging through the legs of the older men, his only instinct was to get away from the one chasing him.

It was no good, he felt himself grabbed again, along an angry cry of "Brat!"

The other man's sword was held up against his throat in a swift movement. At that moment all the fighting stopped, every eye lay on Greece and his captor.

"Πηγαίνοντας να σταματήσει τώρα?" _Going to give up now? _He heard the man laugh mockingly in Greece's own language.

Nobody moved.

The sword retreated from Greece's throat only to be brought down heavily on Greece's shoulder seconds later.

Pain filled every fibre of his body, burning through his veins; he screamed, crying out in agony- pain he had never experienced before in his life.

The weapons of every man in his army were dropped to the floor, they bowed their heads in defeat.

"We are victorious!" The man yelled to his soldiers who let out an almighty cheer, picking the Greek weapons from the floor.

Maybe the Greeks had shouted out in defiance, but the wound was making his vision cloud and his head pound, dizziness laughing round his brain.

He was turned by the man carrying him. He wasn't sure where they were going, but he thought he could see a camp around him. People were calling out to him, jeering he thought.

Was he brought inside a caravan?

Someone tipped a bucket of water over his head, pulling him back to his senses. He was in a caravan, and someone was bending over him, pulling off his armour to get at the injured shoulder.

"I didn't mean it to hurt so much" the voice murmured, finally getting the armour off, leaving Greece in his tunic, as he began to see to the wound.

His vision cleared, he was looking into the masked face of an almost adult Sadik.

The two stared at each other gaze unshifting, for a few long lasting moments.

Greece felt anger and betrayal burning off every inch of his being; Sadik had attacked them, personally raking his way through Greece's shoulder- now he was patching him up?

"I was hoping you'd grown by now," he heard the older nation murmur, his voice barely above a whisper, "but you still look as tiny as ever," Sadik smiled, tying the last bandage to Greece's arm.

"You attacked us..." He tried to keep the hurt from his voice as he spoke, but he was aware of his emotions leaking through.

"I had to," Sadik looked shifty, "we had orders from out Sultan, and you can't disobey him... We can work together in this Hercules..."

"Don't call me that!" The young Greek pushed him away, burning with rage, "I hate you! I want you gone!"

With that last angry cry the boy ran from the caravan. A few soldiers moved forward to grab him but Sadik motioned them to let him go. He didn't want Hercules to see the hurt in his eyes either.

He felt his feet pumping against the dry ground, he wanted to get home, he needed to be home!

Fast, fast, he needed to be faster!

He could feel his people, their sorrow, outrage, anger- it all burned inside him, like a fire, getting higher and higher.

Then there was the pain, splitting his head and heart in two. His land was being pulled away from him, like parts of his body were being torn.

"Grandma!" Greece flew into the palace, running through the vast corridors. Did she already know? Know how he let his people down...

He could hear screams from her room- As the more prominent of the two in the country she must be feeling ten times what he was.

Unable to think clearly, he threw open the door, rushing in to wrap his arms round her middle; wanting the pain gone, he didn't want anything to hurt them. He wanted to be back in that large lonely house, where nobody could get at them.

The two fell to the ground, clinging to each other in comfort.

Greece could feel warm blood dripping onto his body from his grandmother's embrace. Her usually smooth olive hands looked older and more rugged; scars laced her arms.

They could have been there for days for all they knew. What were days when you lived forever?

Finally they rose to their feet. Blood covered both of them from their own wounds, staining the floor red.

"I hate him..." Greece managed to whisper, his voice hoarse from the endless crys of agony.

Ancient Greece said nothing, she only took his hand, leading them from the room. Greece didn't dare look at her, he could still feel the roughness on the hand- it hadn't gone away.

But Nations couldn't die, could they? They didn't age past a certain point, they were there forever. She couldn't be getting older.


	8. Chapter 7

**334 BC – Alexander the Great drives the Persians out**

Triumph rippled through him as he stood alongside the man that had won so many victories for their country. It had taken time, but finally they were driving the Persians back and out of Greece.

Below them Greece could see the battle rage. Alexander always ensured the small nation stayed back, away from the fighting so there was no way he could be scooped up.

Was Turkey down there? Greece found himself wondering, but unlike last time it was not now out of worry, but out of malice; he wanted the Turk to see his people dying around him, know what he'd brought on, and never come back.

The cries of battle roared below them. Then with a yell, the Persians turned as one and ran back over the hills, back to their own land, with enough battle scars to at least make them think about reconsidering another attack.

Greece felt a surge of pleasure as he noticed the majority of bodies sprawled out on the ground were wearing the Persian armour.

It was their victory.

"_I'm sorry," _The whisper was so quiet and faint it could have been mistaken for the wind; but Greece felt the voice in his heart; it was genuine and begging.

"I don't forgive you" Greece muttered under his breath, feeling a violent rush flow through him- racing on the breeze to wherever Sadik was, forcing Greece's reply on him.

Beside him Greece could feel the wave of pride radiating of Alexander's form, and in that moment Greece knew that not only Sadik had received his message, but everyone all over his country were screaming the same reply, driven on by the words their semi-nation was forcing down on the Persians.

**331 BC – Alexander invades Egypt**

Greece had never seen the boy before this in his life; in his dreams yes, but never in the flesh.

He was just as Greece had always imagined he'd be. Expression emotionless and set, but with a quiver of fear in his eyes as Alexander pushed him towards Greece.

Egypt looked about his age. Greece wondered if his grandmother was still around?

Greece looked down at the boy at his feet. Egypt's defiant brown eyes fired back at him.

"What do I do?" Greece turned to Alexander, afraid of what he might hear. This boy was an old playmate from his childhood, even from the days when he was as old as he looked. He'd always been walking alongside the other nations, in a way only a nation could understand.

When Alexander died, when a generation died, they'd move on from these acts; but a nation lived forever, the blood and the scars would never be fully gone. His own shoulder still showed the cruel pale scar put there by another childhood friend.

"Make him bow to you" Alexander prompted, "other whys we can't fully have control, like when Persia tried to invade us, you would not bow."

Greece was about to reply Turkey had never tried to make him bow, but didn't really feel this was the time.

"I will never bow to you!" Egypt spat, "never!"

The scene was so familiar it stung. This was just like when Turkey had invaded him.

He didn't want to have to do it, but it was the will of the people and his commander's wish; he had do it.

He took the sword that Alexander was holding out for him. He approached the other nation, remembering the pain that had hit him when Turkey had scratched his arm. This had to be over quickly, he didn't feel he had the stomach to keep going.

Closing his eyes he whispered his apologies before driving the sword right through Egypt's right hand.

He could feel the scream before he heard it.

Egypt fell to the ground, but he would not bow. Anger had joined the defiance; hatred and pain. "I will never forgive you!" Egypt screamed, tears of pain splashing down his tanned face.

The sword clattered to the floor, he couldn't do it, not after those words. He could feel the reply he had made to Turkey mere years ago ring round his head.

He turned and ran. He didn't care that Egypt wouldn't bow, he couldn't make him do it.

**146 BC – Roman invasion of Greece**

"What's going on!" It had been two hundred years since this torturous agony had last hit him. He had to find his grandmother; she seemed to be getting so frail nowadays, but who was attacking them.

It couldn't be Turkey, Greece would know if it was. This attack had come from across the sea, in numbers Turkey could only dream of.

Another ripple ran through him; he wanted to just keel over and lie on the marble floor until it stopped, but he couldn't leave his grandmother alone.

He stopped when he reached the door. Someone stood baring his way. The last (but one) of his childhood friends.

Rome was not the child he had once played with, nor was he the friendly man who had brought him and his grandmother presents when he came to tell of victories and accomplishments.

It was cold eyes that looked down at him, the sign of a man who was slowly falling deeper into the pit of power that he would have cared to admit.

"I want to see my grandmother," Greece swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady, rising to meet the glare of the now older nation.

"Later" Rome breathed, his voice hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in many years, "go away for now," the voice continued as if Greece were a dog that Rome had no business talking to.

"N-No" Greece stammered, feeling his courage begin to fail, "I-I want to see my Grandmother."

Without warning Rome brought his sword down on Greece's uninjured shoulder, splitting the muscle on impact.

The pain was so great it didn't even register in Greece's brain, he quite simply fainted to the floor.

**52 BC – Lutetia founded by the Romans- Future Paris**

Italy smiled to himself as he wondered round the newly developing city. The best architects were at work building the new city that he and his grandfather had envisioned.

Ever since his grandfather had spent some time in Greece he had been a much kinder person; helping out his people more instead of invading new countries. The best part of this was he could spend more time with Italy.

"What do you think?" Rome joined his grandson on his walk, smiling down with affection at the tiny nation.

"It's going to be so pretty" Italy beamed, "I wonder if a new nation will be born to it?"

Rome laughed, scooping Italy into his arms, "I hope not, otherwise I might have to fight them for it, and I'd rather not."

Italy crossed his fingers, he hoped not as well.

"Sir," one of the workers called out to his grandfather, waving their arms from the top of a piece of scaffolding.

Rome set his grandson on the floor, "why don't you go and explore a bit more" Rome suggested, "but stay in the city,"

"I will" Italy promised, feeling his heart pound with excitement, his grandfather had never let him explore before on his own; this meant he was free to look where he wanted, without the time restrictions usually on his grandfather.

He decided to look at the most finished part of the city where the workers had moved out of. It would be quiet there, he may even see something he'd like to paint.

To Italy this city was the most beautiful in the world- second to Rome. Spectacular pillars rose from the ground, holding up houses and shop stalls; at the end of the finished street lay the theatre, just like the ones they had at home in Rome.

Looking around to check nobody was about Italy approached the theatre; he just wanted to take a look to see what it was like inside.

As he approached the newly finished building he became sure he could hear a soft muffling noise coming from inside.

He stepped through the entrance arches, peering carefully into the dark room- the windows were covered for the time being so if it rained it wouldn't damage the inside of the building. It rained here a lot more than it did in Rome.

Rome had told him some of the places where Germania lived it rained even more than this- though Italy found that hard to believe, what sort of country rained for days on end?

Squinting he thought he could make something out in the half light- a soft mewing emitting from whatever it was.

"Maybe it's a cat?" Italy spoke with horror to himself, maybe the poor animal had gotten stuck.

Racing over to the 'whatever it was' Italy bent down to examine it.

A set of clear blue eyes blinked back at him, it was not a cat...

Italy felt a small lurch as he looked at the child, like something had suddenly connected their hearts.

"You're a nation aren't you?" Italy whispered, remembering with a jolt what his grandfather had said about a new nation. But he had to show the baby to him, there was no way Italy knew what to do with it- he was little more than a baby himself, but he couldn't leave it alone either.

"Wait here" he told the baby, that was now blinking at him curiously, "I'll go and get grandpa."

Italy turned and ran back through the city, trying to decide what he was going to say to the man that tore down any nation that stood in his way.

"Chibitalia what's wrong?" He ran straight into his grandfather's knee. Chibitalia was a nickname Rome was found of using with him.

"I-I found a baby nation" Italy stammered, pointing in the direction of the theatre, "it's really little, I don't think it could do any harm..."

Rome seemed to understand what his grandson was talking about, because he bent down to pick Italy up, promising, "I won't hurt him, you could do with a friend any way."

"Thank you!" Italy flung his arms around his grandfather's neck, happiness running through him as he directed Rome in the direction of where he'd found the child.

Rome named the little nation France before he left to go back to Rome, but he left Italy to oversea the remaining work to be done on Lutetia.

~/~

"What are we doing today?" France pressed him. The baby nation had grown up very quickly and was already Italy's physical age in ten years.

Despite the fact the city was beautiful, France seemed to be bossy and pushy- though he did have a graceful way of doing it.

"We could do some painting" Italy suggested, he didn't want to have to practise sword fighting again, which seemed to be France's favourite game. Luckily France agreed to painting.

France was not a bad painter, he made a few mistakes here and there, but nothing Italy couldn't help him with.

"Italy?" France stopped painting in mid-stroke.

"sì?" Italy smiled, not looking up from his own picture, just in case something happened to the view he was painting.

"I was wondering, I've heard you call yourself Feliciano from time to time?" For once France's normal bossy tone wasn't showing, instead he sounded curious.

"I don't know" Feliciano admitted, "I sometimes have dreams of a father who named me that," Italy paused uncertainty, "I sometimes dream of two others as well; a brother and another boy..." He shook his head, "just dreams, but I've made Feliciano my other name; just don't tell grandpa, he doesn't like it..."

France nodded excitedly, "can I have a name to?" He asked, pleading with Italy with those unusually blue eyes.

Italy knew France's eyes bothered Rome because the only other nation Rome knew of with blue eyes was his life long enemy Germania. The blond hair was also something only seen in the Germanic nation.

"You want a name?" Italy stopped painting to focus on his friend; France nodded intently.

Italy thought, he wasn't really very good at this...

"How about Francis?" He suggested, nervous he was going to be turned down. He watched France's face closely as he thought about it.

"I like Francis" he beamed, "okay, I'm now Francis, call me that from now on" he ordered, laughing heartily, "or big brother France, I don't mind which."

Italy was about to protest, then decided it wasn't worth fighting about, he just nodded. For some reason his grandfather wasn't keen on nations using human names, but he wouldn't explain to Italy why.

He wondered whether his grandfather had a human name?


	9. Chapter 8

**30 BC – The Fall of Ancient Greece**

Greece watched the doctor pass him in the hallway; then shook his head sadly at Greece's boss, casting a slow look at the small nation before hurrying away down the corridor.

There were mutters in the palace; this had never happened before, did this mean they were cursed?

All sorts of whispers spread through the worried people.

A message had been sent to Roman Empire who had been in Egypt, but news was he was hurrying across the ocean.

To Greece, he wasn't entirely sure he understood the situation. Yes, his grandmother was ill, and she hadn't been looking good the last few hundred years, but nations didn't die; wasn't that what he'd always been told. Nations didn't die.

"You can see her if you like..." His boss looked down at what he supposed was soon to be the nation of the country.

Greece didn't like the look he was being given, it was like he was being pitied; but they didn't understand, Ancient Greece wouldn't die...

He made his way into the bedroom where his grandmother lay still and rasping on the bed. She looked so old and frail now, she wasn't even recognisable as the beautiful woman who had arrived at the palace over a thousand years ago.

"Greece..." He heard her weak voice calling him closer- unable to lift her limbs to motion to him.

Cautiously Greece moved towards her, trying not to flinch at the sight of her sick form. He didn't want this to be happening, he didn't know how he'd manage on his own...

"You'll take my place" she whispered, lifting a weak hand to stroke his hair with her cracked hands.

"You aren't going to die!" Greece bit through tears, clutching at her hand with his, as though begging some of his life into her; but she only laughed sadly.

"My time has come to an end, as will Ancient Egypt's, Roman Empire's, and Germania's; we have lived out our welcome, but younger nations will take our places..." She paused to cough roughly onto the other side of the mattress- Greece hoped that wasn't blood he saw.

"Where is she!" They heard Rome in the hallway.

He had calmed a lot since the invasion of Greece; the insanity that Greece had briefly glimpsed the day of the invasion was a mere speck in the man's eye.

Rome pushed into the room, panic in his eyes. "Please tell me it isn't possible!" He flung himself towards the bed; sweat dripping down his forehead, clammy hands clutching at the edge of the bed.

Was it just Greece's imagination or did Rome look a little older as well; there was definitely signs of visible scars around his once mighty body.

"We can die" Ancient Greece gave him a small smile, bringing her hand back up to hold Greece's hand, "we can't live forever..."

"We can!" Rome's sudden anger took Greece by surprise, but his grandmother seemed to have been expecting it. "I won't die, I won't!" He turned and fled the room.

Greece could hear his screams of anguish in the hall.

"Will I die?" Greece asked, feeling the pace of his heart quicken, not sure if he wanted to know the answer,

"That I don't know... But I have seen clear paths for Rome, Germania, and Ancient Egypt... We will die, it won't be long now; already new nations are appearing all over the place, Rome found one in the west near Albion..." _Albion- The Ancient Greek name for the island of Britain_

"Not in Albion!" Greece stared at her in disbelief- no nation could survive there!

"No, just to the south of there, France..." She coughed again, "but try to live as long as you can... Make me proud..." Her eyes were beginning to flicker shut; Greece wasn't sure whether it was for rest or if these were her last moment.

"I'll miss you," he kissed her hand, "what if I do something wrong?"

"Then learn from it." With those words Ancient Greece's eyes closed for the last time.

A nation lay dead.

**0 AD/BC**

Half the world lives,  
Half the world makes,  
Half the world gives  
While the other half takes.

Half the world hates,  
Half the world runs away,  
Half the world's late,  
Half the world praises the day.

Half the world is,  
Half the world was,  
Half the world thinks,  
Half the world does.

Half the world lies,  
Half the world burns,  
Half the world cries  
While the other half turns.

Half the world cares,  
Half the world weeps,  
Half the world shares,  
Half the world keeps.

Half the world sings,  
Half the world laughs,  
Half the world brings,  
Half the world tries to be the other half.

**By Daegal**

"Who are you?" Spain lifted his head from the bush he was hiding in; he'd never been this far north in his land before, he hadn't been expecting to meet anyone.

"Who are you?" The question was repeated. Spain was aware whoever it was they were getting dangerously close to his border.

"I'm Francis, who are you?" A blond haired boy was peering down at him looking curious. He looked about the same age as Spain (around seven or eight).

Spain shook his head, this was just a normal citizen, it didn't matter who he was to them.

The blond hair and blue eyes reminded Spain of stories Rome had told about the savage Germania in the north, was this one of his people?

"Do you want to play?" Francis smiled, pulling Spain to his feet, "I'll choose the game..." Francis looked thoughtful, "do you know how to play war?"

Spain shivered, so far he'd managed to stay away from war, he wasn't to keen on learning; it sounded as though the real thing was just around the corner.

"I don't want to play war," Spain shook his head, "I should be going..."

"Hey wait!" Francis grabbed his arm, "it's not everyday you meet another nation, don't go wondering off now!" He glared defiantly at the Spaniard.

"Your a nation?" Spain's jaw dropped open. Now he was concentrating he could could tell that what the boy was saying was true.

Francis laughed, "couldn't you tell?"

Spain shook his head to clear it, "sorry, I just haven't seen another nation in what must be over a thousand years..."

"I thought we were all over the place" Francis shrugged, "I've met five including you."

"Have you met Turkey, Greece and Egypt?" Spain remembered Rome referring to his old playmates with fondness. But Francis was looking confused,

"I've never heard of them... But I have met Rome, Germania, his grandson, and Rome's grandson Feliciano too."

Spain felt a horrid shiver run up his spine at the last name. Did Feliciano remember the name his father had given him when he was only moments old? He couldn't imagine Rome approving of the name.

"And...?" Spain pressed, remembering the older of the twins that he himself had named.

Francis shook his head, "That's it, sorry."

Seemingly bored by the conversation Francis spun him around, pulling a large sword from his belt in challenge. "I'm France, and I insist you play sword with me."

**212 – Romans invade Spain**

Spain had spent more and more time with his new friend in the north. He couldn't understand what Rome had told him about the nations in the north being barbaric... France himself seemed rather refined, if a little rugged round the edges.

He could see France waiting for him on the border up ahead. Smiling, Spain wondered what game France had made up for them today.

But as he got closer he could make out France's panicked expression, he was motioning for Spain to hurry.

"What's wrong?" Spain picked up his pace, surprised when France ran to meet him- he'd never done that before.

"He's coming!" France panted; it sounded like he'd run a long way, very quickly; he was pointing over his shoulder, "you've got to run, or he'll catch you!"

Somewhere in Spain's senses he could hear the steady approaching feet of a vast army, bigger than any he'd heard before, but it seemed familiar somewhat...

"Go!" France hissed, before throwing a panicked look over his own shoulder and fleeing back into the safety of the forest that Spain knew to be only a mile back over the border.

Without quite processing Spain felt his feet hit the ground as he to turned to run, aware of the soldiers growing ever closer. Who was coming? Who had France meant?

They were getting closer. Feet drumming on the floor; one man had pulled away from them, moving at the pace that only a nation could.

Soon enough Spain couldn't just hear him in his head, he was mere meters behind him; restless in the hunt.

A sudden pain shot through him. Something cold and sharp was sticking in his back.

He screamed.

Had he not been sliced with a scythe and had nothing to show of it? What was this!

His blood burned inside his veins, sending his brain into spasms as it tried unsuccessfully to calm his body down.

He finally gathered the strength to pull the sword from his own spine, falling to the ground on his back, looking up at his attacker; looking into the face he had once known so well.

Rome looked so much older, his face was littered with scars and tears. Eyes cold and mad, as he looked down on the younger nation.

"Rome!" Antonio stared in disbelief, feeling another jab of pain as he tried to sit up. But it seemed like Rome hadn't heard him.

"You are part of my territory now" he whispered, voice hoarse and tired, like he was pumping mere effort into just standing.

He turned to go, scarlet cloak billowing behind him.

"Wait!" Spain pulled himself up, "how's Feliciano?"

Rome froze. Then in one movement he pulled his sword from his belt, seizing Spain by the scruff of his shirt, holding the sword to his throat.

"What do you know about Italy!" He demanded, showering Spain's face with spit.

"I was there when he was born" Spain glared back, "him and the other one!"

Rome threw him to the floor, sword poised to strike.

A brief look of recognition passed over his face, but it only lasted long enough for him to drop the sword, and for Spain to turn and run into France's territory.

France's border had never felt so far away, it seemed like it was getting purposefully further away just to spite him.

The pain in his back was causing him to stumble every few steps, vision blocked by a white fog that hung round his eyes.

"Spain!" Someone caught him just as he finally fell. He was acutely aware of them guiding him away from his country, pulling him into France.

When he awoke he was lying in an uncomfortable bed in what he guessed was a peasant's house; France was looking over him worriedly.

"He got you didn't he...?" France ran his hand over Spain's hair, "he gets us all..."

"Is he okay?" A group of children knocked into France- some looked older than him, behind them a woman was standing with a bowl of piping hot soup that she forced down on Spain, motioning with her hands what to do just in case he didn't understand.

"Mon Droit..." France gasped, taking a closer look at the wound in Spain's back as he helped him to sit. "If you were human that would have killed you instantly..."

"Lucky me then" Spain muttered, digging into the soup like it was his last and first meal in life.

France stopped him, turning his face so they were looking straight at each other, "I promise I will find a way to stop him, someone like that can't be allowed to keep going; Germania will beat him one day... Just wait..."

Spain suddenly realised that Germania was more kin to France than Rome ever was, but France didn't understand, while Germania was his kin, Rome was Spain's.

Rome had taught him all he knew about being a nation... But he had also taken Feliciano away...

Spain had heard such terrible stories about Rome recently... Was there such thing as a nation that lived out its worth?


	10. Chapter 9

**250 – Highly aristocratic society in Japan with military rulers**

He could hear people arguing in the other room. He, and the other children he lived with crept forwards to peer round the door at where China and two strange men were arguing.

"I know you have it here!" One of them snapped, the largest of the two; he had his sword in his hand and kept waving it dangerously close to China's face.

"Are they going to hurt him?" Kiku heard Mei whisper, shivering against the three boys,

"No one can hurt China" Im told her, but he didn't sound as sure as he usually did.

The last of them hung back a little, as if he wasn't keen on being spotted spying on their mentor while he was arguing.

"It is ours and you know it!" The man hissed again, thrusting his sword to rest on China's chest.

China narrowed his eyes, "not planning on starting a war are you?" He asked, his voice dangerously soft.

The other man elbowed the other, forcing him to sheath his sword. "Of course not, but you must understand that its proper place is with us, where we can take care of it..."

"We can not move forward while you have it trapped and suppressed!" The big man growled again, though he kept his sword in its holder.

"It's not a question of rights," China let his eyes swim over the place where the door was partially open- he knew they were watching. "It's all about whether Kiku wants to go..."

Kiku felt Mei and Im give him a small push into the room.

"They want to talk to you" Mei whispered encouragingly.

Kiku swallowed looking up at China and the two strange men.

"What's my choice?" He asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking; it was moments like this he wished he was more like Hong Kong- who seemed to remain cool whatever was thrown at him.

Before the men could plunge into him, China lifted Kiku off the floor into his arms.

"You know what you are don't you Kiku?" China asked him gently, talking to him as if the other men weren't in the room.

"I'm a nation" Kiku nodded, "he'd known this since China had found him many years ago.

"That's right" China nodded, "these men are from your country, they want to take you back there..."

Kiku looked over at the eager men who were rubbing their greedy hands together, with a hungry look in their eyes.

"Do you want to go?" China whispered, letting Kiku know he could let him know, then he'd let him go and sort it out with the men.

"I..." Kiku blinked, on one hand he didn't want to go with the strange men who looked for all they were worth like they were going to eat him, but on the other; if he didn't he knew they'd be back to bother China again...

"I'll go," he looked up at his mentor, hoping he'd understand. China nodded to show he did,

"祝你好运"_I wish you good luck_ China whispered to him,

"あなたも"_You too_ Japan gave China a final long look before he was put on the floor to walk towards his new guardians.

"Come on let's go" the big man smiled licking his lips. He took Kiku's hand roughly, giving the little nation only a moment to call goodbye over his shoulder at the other three young nations he had lived with for so long.

The men seemed to be lecturing him as they walked. They hadn't even left China's palace yet and already they were telling him to be somebody new.

"Your name is Japan now" they told him, "we are here to accompany you to a temple deep in the mountains of your country where you will be taught every thing you need to know about your job."

"I'm going to a temple?" Kiku wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, wasn't he going to live in the palace like China had.

"When the monks feel you have been trained enough you will come to live at the palace with the Emperor, but you need to know your job first" the thinner of the two men assured him, "just work hard and you'll be out in no time."

Out of everything the men had said to him so far, the line 'he'd be out soon' was the hardest to believe.

**476 – The fall of Rome**

"Spain!" The nation felt himself being shaken awake by an excited sounding France.

"What are you doing!" Spain tried to snap- still half asleep, "Do you know what'll happen if Rome catches you here again!"

"He's not here!" France still sounded excited, "it's finally happening; Germania and Rome are fighting it out in what they call their last battle!"

Spain suddenly felt wide awake, "where!"

A wide grin spread across France's face, he hadn't missed the guilty relief in Spain's voice. He took his friend by the hand, beginning to run through the landscape of Spain into France.

The feel of war lay thickly in the area France was leading him to; it hung around them like a fog. When they arrived Spain realised they were not the only viewers; a small blond boy who looked almost like a miniature of Germania but with shorter hair, stood beside another being...

Well Spain assumed that was what it was, he knew it was there, but it didn't seem to have a form to be seen with.

It was clear that Germania was dominating the fight.

As he watched Spain realised with a lurch he'd never actually seen Germania before, this was the first time he'd actually seen the blond barbarian with his own eyes.

It seemed Rome knew he was losing too. He looked even weaker than when Spain had last seen him- he look almost like an old man with a young scarred face.

Spain let his eyes drift past Rome where another figure stood motionless; even at this distance Spain could tell they were crying.

Rome suddenly jerked his head round, blocking Germania's blow, "Go!" He screamed at the child, "There is a letter for you on my bed in the palace, read it!"

The child didn't move, they shook their head, "I won't leave you" he sobbed.

Spain sensed the pity emitting from France. While the northern nation hated Rome, it was obvious he didn't want this child to suffer.

"Who..." He was about to ask, but Rome answered that question for him.

"Feliciano go!" Rome kicked Germania away to shout his final message to his grandson.

Spain felt his feet pick up, he charged head on into the battle, heading for the child; but Rome had seen him coming, his eyes full of fear.

He dropped his sword. "Run!" Rome cried, but the boy Spain had almost met again was already gone.

Rome had blocked Spain's path with his body, tears streaming down his face, "she said this would happen, she said it would..."

The blade came through Rome's back, driving right through out of his chest, so the blade came face to face with Spain. Warm blood splattered his face.

Rome turned back to look at Germania. The onlooking nations could just make out his expression- he looked more in his mind than he had done in many years.

"I can see the field again" he whispered, full meaning in his eyes as he faced the Germanic nation still holding the sword firmly in place.

"We'll play again some day..." Rome coughed, the blood from his wound regurgitating up his throat. "I'll be seeing you there soon?"

Germania gave a small nod, pulling the other man close so the sword impaled them both.

"I'm with you always my friend..." Germania whispered.

~/~

Italy ran, he needed to get back to Rome, he was sure his grandfather would catch up with him eventuall; even though he was sure he knew this, the tears wouldn't stop flowing.

Maybe the letter Rome had left him would reveal a secret about how to bring him back. His grandfather would never let himself die, he was almost fanatical about it; everything would be fine, it had to be.

"Master Italy?" The servants of the palace watched him run past, but none made any effort to stop him, it seemed that deep down they already knew what was happening.

It didn't take Italy long to find the letter folded neatly on the bed as if Rome had been expecting to come back to it any moment.

Carefully Italy unfolded it, letting his brown eyes skim across the lines.

_Dear my wonderful Grandson,_

_I want you to know that I have carefully thought out the words in which to tell you this. _

_If you are reading this then I am dead, please don't cry too long, your such a cute boy when you smile; please keep laughing, never let anything get you down._

_I leave to you everything to the North of Rome until you reach the mountains. As for the land south of Rome, I leave to your brother, the boy you never met. _

_I recently received news that he is lurking around that area of my territory anyway. Please go and find him, tell him what I have left him, and if he'll listen tell him I'm sorry okay?_

_Your loving Grandfather, The Ancient Empire of Rome_

Reading the words just made the pain in his heart worse, but now he had been left a job. He had a brother...

The shock was almost enough to push to sadness away. The only thing that seemed to be pulling Italy now was that he wanted somebody to cling to, someone he could stay with...

Italy rushed from the room, the letter patted carefully into his pocket where it wouldn't fall out.

"I need a carriage to the South" Italy ordered the nearest servant, but they bowed their head,

"It's already done sir, it's awaiting you at the front of the palace."

Italy thanked the servant as he rushed past. He needed to leave the city, it reminded him too much of his grandfather. Maybe one day he'd return, maybe his brother would come with him...

The only man with him was the horse driver. It was lonely inside the carriage by himself with only a letter for comfort.

As he looked out of the window he could see the walls of the once mightiest city in the world beginning to crumble.


	11. Chapter 10

Italy heard a tap on the top of his carriage as the horse drew to a halt.

"Mr Italy," the horse driver looked in through the window, "I'm sorry to ask, but you see it's really quite hot, do you mind if we stop a while for water in the town up ahead?"

Italy sighed, he wanted to reach his brother as soon as possible but he had to remember he was travelling with a human and animal that both needed rest, drink, and food.

"That's fine" Italy nodded, "I'll have a look around when we get there too."

The horse driver nodded his thanks, whipping the horse into a trot in the direction of the town.

He had never been this side of his grandfather's territory before, but he'd assumed it would be more or less like the north half.

Instead a dark cloud seemed to hang over this half, although the sun was shining down brighter than it ever could in the north. The towns and cities they'd passed were reasonable, but they were badly laid out and full of ugly looking buildings.

As the carriage stopped and Italy was helped out, the horse driver looked like he had something to ask.

"What is it?" Italy asked, wondering if something was wrong,

"Pardon my asking, but this brother of yours, you've never actually seen him, how will you know who he is?"

Italy blinked, he hadn't actually thought about this; but he shook his head, he had to keep looking at this positively.

"I'll just know" he nodded, realising that his senses for another nation would be the only thing he had to rely on.

He watched his driver take the horse away in the direction of the pub (so much for water). He turned to walk in the direction where he thought he could hear a fountain- maybe he should have a drink while he was here as well, just to clear his head after the long journey.

Sitting on the edge of the stone framework, he dipped his hands into the cool clear water; splashing a little on his face to cool himself down before proceeding to drink.

All this time he had a nagging sensation that he was being watched. He pushed it away, it must just be the people, after all you didn't usually see a seven year old boy wondering around on his own. Italy wondered just how old he was exactly; for all he could remember he'd been living with his grandfather all his life.

"But I had those dreams" he murmured aloud, remembering the confusing dreams about the man, baby, and young boy. "If my brother was real... Maybe the other two were as well..."

"You lost?" Italy snapped his head up to look in the direction of the angry sounding voice.

"No, I'm fine thank you" Italy murmured in reply, he didn't like people who sounded angry at you before they'd even had a chance to be properly introduced.

"You must be" the boy replied, with equal hostility, "you haven't been down here before in your life."

Italy forced himself to look at the other boy properly. He looked about seven, with hair slightly darker than Italy's own, but his eye colour was a little lighter- closer to hazel than brown.

The boy was trembling, though Italy wasn't sure whether it was from rage or trying to prevent tears.

The last part of the boy he took note of was the strange curl twisting from the centre of his hair parting, just like Italy's own on the left.

"Fratello?" _Brother?_ Italy let out a small breath, hardly daring the words to come out. The boy looked sharply at him, then he did burst into tears, accepting Italy's hug graciously.

For a moment they just clung to each other, crying onto the other's shoulder. Finally Italy's brother pulled away, rubbing his eyes dry.

"What brings you here?" He sniffed, "I didn't think you'd ever visit..."

"You knew about me?" Italy gasped, he hadn't known until only a few weeks ago that he even had a brother.

The boy nodded, "you're name is Feliciano, you were the younger of us two, and you were taken away minuets after you were born by Roman Empire..." he looked like he was about to cry again, "you were the baby born perfect, with the name everyone wanted, I don't even know who named me..."

Italy could feel such a horrible feeling of hopelessness washing over his brother that he felt his heart give a sharp twist.

"Grandpa Rome is... is..." Italy swallowed, "...he died..."

His brother tilted his head, then hugged Italy again. "I'm sorry" he murmured, "I never knew him... I only knew our father..."

"Our father!" Italy blinked, an image of the man in his dreams returning, of course that must have been his father!

He wanted to know more about him, but Romano was shaking his head, looking a little pale so he didn't press it.

"Do you ever have dreams about the night we were born?" Italy hesitated, never before had he spoken about these dreams to anyone else, but out of all people, he was sure his brother would understand.

"Sometimes..." His brother nodded, "Do you ever see another boy there... Looks about our age now?"

Italy nodded, "do you know who he is?"

But his brother was shaking his head, "I've never met him again in my life; he's probably dead by now..."

"My name is Lovino by the way," the boy held out his hand, smiling shyly, "nation name; Romano. It's what people round here have started calling me anyway,"

"Feliciano... though you already know that, my nation name is Italy..." He paused, "Grandfather left you all his land this side of Rome between Rome and the sea, I have been left the north half..."

"He left me land?" Romano looked shocked, "I-I thought he'd forgotten about me, that's what _he_ said any way..."

"Who?" Italy looked curiously at Romano, but the boy looked distant again.

"You can stay with me for a bit if you like..." Romano looked embarrassed but he kept the question steady, "only if you want to of course..."

"I'd like that very much!" Italy gave a squeak of excitement, hugging his brother again.

Romano smiled, happiness touching him for the first time. He and Italy would stay together forever, he'd never let anything happen to his younger brother.

**485 – First King of the Franks, Italy invaded by Attila the Hun**

"That's great" Spain congratulated his friend. France had turned up (really) early that morning to wake Spain up to tell him about his new king.

France had been hoping for a more enthusiastic reply, but it seemed that was all he was going to get at four in the morning from Spain.

He felt pumped full of adrenalin, he wanted to do something, he wanted to do something no one had done before... Then it hit him, he'd do what only Rome had ever dared do before him, he would cross the small stretch of sea between his country and the gloomy island in the north.

Everyone knew the northern island some had called Britannia, others had called Albion was nationless.

The Anglos and the Saxons were trying to make something of that island, but the locals kept chasing them out again. Maybe under the Anglo-Saxons a nation might be born but France deemed it unlikely.

He had reached the tip of his country now, near the docks; nobody would notice if one little boat went missing for a few hours.

Besides France had heard what happened to nations born on islands; apparently they never grew fully, they'd never progress into adults, let alone make anything of themselves.

He could just about see the edge of the island now- white cliffs jutting out either side of the beaches, water lapping against their chalk walling, threatening to wash them away at any moment.

France shivered, he'd feel unstable living in a place like that. He remembered the stories he'd been told about the people that lived there.

There were tales of ghosts as well. Some of the Anglo-Saxons had come to rest in France a while to recover from their war wounds and had told France stories of a child who wondered around the moor in the mist, with eyes like those of a cat.

All France wanted to do was have a quick wonder about, then hurry back to his boat so he could boast about his adventure to Spain. He didn't want to run into anyone living or not.

Tying the boat carefully to a rock on the beach he pulled his sword from his belt- it was best to be on the safe side.

The beach was nothing like the ones he'd left; where golden sand should have been there was dark hard grit, damp with rain as well as sea.

It didn't take him long to get of the beach, only to reach out a foot and have it plummet through the boggy mud.

Maybe dressing in his best boots hadn't been the best of ideas, but he could always show them to Spain later as proof.

He waded deeper into the mist, until he could no longer tell which way was forward. The mud was now up to his thigh; he was afraid if he stood still for too long he'd sink.

Maybe it was time to be getting back now... But which way was back!

Panic suddenly seized him, he was lost in the mud and fog, where any number of things could spring at him any moment.

He shook his head quickly, no, he wouldn't die, the other nations had spoken after the death of Rome and Germania- only nations that had out lived their welcome and did not adapt to survive would die. That was what they'd decided.

Nations didn't just drop dead in the mud...

A sudden whisper caught in France's ears; it was so soft it sounded like the wind, but it guided him to what he guessed was the right.

Where a pair of bright green eyes stared back at him, then they vanished. Quickly France held his sword at the ready to let whoever it was know he was armed.

Then out of nowhere a stone shot out of the mist, striking his hands. With a yell of pain France dropped the sword into the bog.

"No!" He let out an exclamation of fear, falling to his knees, rummaging through the mud for his sword.

He could hear something moving around him, like they were stalking, looking for a point to strike.

"Please..." France begged, closing his eyes, letting thick tears fall to the ground, he'd never been so frightened in his life.

Out of nowhere, a hand seized his robes, pulling him forwards. The owner of the hand said nothing, France didn't see them either. But they appeared to be pulling him somewhere.

Maybe he was going back to its nest where it had little monsters to feed...

They walked for what seemed like an age; the only sign they were making any progress at all was that the mud seemed to be getting lower again.

Then the hand released him, moving behind him and pushing him forwards.

France stumbled, then realised where he was.

He could see his boat where he'd left it tied to the rock on the damp beach. Turning round to thank the one who had helped him, he saw no trace of them, and was not willing to go back into the fog to find them.

"Thank you!" He shouted instead, hoping that they'd hear him, he was sure they were still nearby.

Without another thought he returned to his boat, kicking it back out to sea, paddling as quickly as he could.

It was only when he was a fair distance away he spotted a tiny figure watching him go, a child?

Despite the distance it seemed to France as though the two were staring at each other, before France broke contact and continued to row away.

* * *

Fire was everywhere, people screaming, crying; as the Huns tore down everything they had strived to rebuild.

"Italy!" Romano pushed through the panicking crowd, calling his brother's name into the hopeless sea of noise.

He shouldn't have left him, he'd only gone for a moment to see what the senate wanted, he hadn't been expecting an attack; none of them had.

"Brother!" Romano's heart swooped in relief as he heard a cry coming from the alleyway. He flung himself down with his brother in the shelter Italy had found.

It must have been a badly built home to some homeless woman Romano decided, it smelt to nice to have belonged to a man. But it was enough to hide them from the endless downpour of soldiers.

"Where did they come from?" Romano whispered, not really expecting his brother to answer him.

"Huns" Italy replied, burying his head in his brother's chest, "France told me Germania had difficulty with them in his eastern territories..."

Another wail made them fall silent. Neither dared to look out or make a sound. Everything seemed to be falling apart around them; Rome would never have let this happen.

"We're going to die like he did..." Italy risked a soft cry,

"No we're not" Romano held him closer, "we'll learn from it, and it will make us stronger. If the Huns can't find us, they can't rule properly, then they'll go home."

Italy sniffed, he hoped Romano was right.


	12. Chapter 11

**520 – Celts defeat Saxons at the battle of 'Mount Badon'**

France stood on the beach, watching the ships carrying the wounded soldiers over to the continent for medical attention.

"Looks like a bad one..." His boss groaned, muttering something to a servant about finding appropriate rooms to put the quickly arriving guests in.

"How can it take them this long to invade such a little island?" France shook his head, "they've been there about seventy years already!" He shivered a little, remembering his experience not to long ago. His second unvoiced question was why any one would want to invade such a place?

He watched as two soldiers helped their leader onto the shores off the beach; he looked badly wounded France noted. An arrow was sunk deep into his lower ribs.

Despite the amount of space and care that was required to help these mad men trying to invade the nationless island, France enjoyed their visits, they always meant a good story in the evening.

"Still haven't grown I see," one of the older soldiers ruffled his hair as he passed,

"and your hair's still as long as ever" another muttered, ignoring the young nation's indignant look. France liked his hair long, it looked nicer.

Besides lots of the Saxon soldiers were growing their hair long too. They had strange coloured hair... fiery red, unlike any France had ever seen before.

"Do the barbarians have red hair too?" France asked, when the leader was sitting comfortably opposite him at dinner.

The man laughed, "they do and all, cheeky git; us red heads have got to stick together..." he paused, "but try telling them that," he indicated a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the muddy island.

"They only went and drove us back to the coast!" Another exclaimed through his beef.

The leader nodded sadly, "we were working our way up, when suddenly bam! Out of nowhere come these barbarians screaming they were led by the great Arthur, I saw no such man!" The Saxon leader was beginning to look irritated; France hoped that wasn't all he was going to hear that night.

"We did see that demon again" the man on France's right grumbled, "he's the one that shot Horsa here!" _Horsa- One of the leaders of the Saxons at the time, the other was his brother Hengist_

"Demon?" France leaned forward excitedly,

"I haven't told you about it already?" Horsa smirked, knowing full well he hadn't,

"no!" France exclaimed impatiently.

"He takes the form of a child sometimes; wild blond hair, and monster green eyes- like a cat. He vanishes and reappears in the mist, only present long enough to snatch his victims back with him, to their deaths!"

France and his people gave a small gasp round the table, then France spoke up.

"I crossed over once... I think I saw this demon..."

Horsa looked at him with shock, "however did you get away!"

"I think someone saved me before it could get close enough to grab me..." France muttered, remembering the terrible moment when he thought for sure he was about to die.

"But," Horsa continued on a more cheerful note, "when we get there, we'll make something of that bog land, we might even bring a nation to us!"

The Saxons round the table gave a cheer.

France and his people shook their heads discreetly, even if a nation was born, it would never get past infancy.

**577 – Saxons defeat the Celts**

"They did it!" The messenger came spinning through the palaces halls, "that Gewis actually won!"

_Gewis – Now the leader of the Saxons_

"Who did!" The king and his wife opened the door of their room looking furious- it was about six in the morning.

"They beat the Celts!"

France gawked at him. Then he closed his chambre door slowly; now they had it, what did they do next...

**700 – Austria comes under the rule of the Franks**

"Sir!" Austria looked up from his new found hobby. He'd managed to pull together a few differently shaped objects, that when he hit them they made a different noise.

"What is it?" The visibly six year old child asked, wondering why everyone was in such a panic.

He could feel them inside him, screaming and running. You'd never believe it up in the peaceful mountains where Austria liked to play.

"People from the west are coming, they intend to invade!"

Austria tilted his head at the strange word, "invade?" He repeated, "I didn't even know there was anyone else apart from us?"

"They call themselves the Franks, and they've got someone like you with them!" The soldier motioned for him to hurry, "we need to get you out of here!"

"Where?" Austria didn't mean to be rude, he was just curious where he was meant to go; he couldn't abandon his country.

But what they would have done, it was too late for. The sounds of horse hooves were cantering towards them.

Were these men fighting on horseback!

Then he froze, he could feel something very definable in the air. A long forgotten sense that seemed only to have just awoken.

He stepped forward, whatever it was had dismounted and was walking slowly towards him.

It looked like a boy of about ten, with blond hair down to maybe just past his shoulders, his eyes were the closest colour Austria had ever seen to his own.

"Hello there" the other boy called cheerfully, holding out his hand for Austria to shake. "My name is France, I'd like to invade your country. I'm sure..." Austria's attention was suddenly brought to the sharp looking sword France was hanging carelessly from his right hand, "...We can come to some sort of agreement without to much persuasion?"

The small dark haired nation swallowed, "what is invade?" He asked, flinching as France let out a splutter of amusement.

"Invade means I'm in charge, or my government is; you and your people do what we say and we won't bother you."

Austria glanced at the soldier for advice.

In his chest Austria could feel his people dying all around as the Franks swamped his villages and towns.

"All the fighting will stop?" He asked. Austria may look young but even he could judge that they couldn't take on these heavily armed men from the west on horse back.

France nodded, "you have my word as a nation."

**784 – Peak in Japanese culture**

Japan looked up steadily from his book at the sakura blossom falling gently into the yard of the temple. Falling all around him as if they were pleased and proud to tell him that their tree was soon about to burst into flower.

"Good morning" he smiled, brushing the petals from his shoulder as he got to his feet.

A carriage was coming to take him back to the palace today; after over five-hundred years of teachers and lessons, he was leaving.

But it wasn't something to get excited about Japan reminded himself. He was the nation of a highly important country, he couldn't appear in such an inappropriate manner.

That was what he had learned in his lessons; China had already taught him to read and write, that wasn't a problem.

Now he could see the importance and beauty in everything around him. He wasn't just a nation, he was a nation who would one day show all the others how a country should be run.

"Your carriage Sensei," the monk bowed low before speaking, Japan bowed back, thanking him for the message.

In a controlled manner he walked towards the front gate where the men and carriage were waiting. He had aged a little in five-hundred years; the Monks reckoned he looked about thirteen now, and were worried about letting him go before he had grown fully into an adult.

Someone opened the carriage door for him bowing as Japan stepped past them into the transport. Another man was waiting for him inside. Japan felt the immediate connection that a nation only shared with its leader.

"It is nice to be the one in a long line who finally gets to meet you," the emperor nodded, "I will take you back to the palace with me, that will be your new home."

"ありがとうございます," _Thank you _Japan lowered his head obediently, "that is very kind of you."

"A lot has changed since you were shut in the temple; our leaders are no longer so militaristic; we are at peace and in a peak of culture, no doubt some of it is due to your hard training."

Japan felt a swarm of pride rush through him, he'd already succeeded in making his country a little better.

He leaned forward a little so he could see out of the windows. The scenery was something he couldn't even have imagined even after the paintings he had seen in the Temple.

This was his home. It was beautiful, and he could make it better.

**793 – First Viking Raid in England**

They were coming, he could feel them even if he couldn't see them. People from the north were coming in their boats, full of cruel looking men; two blond children at their feet.

"Who are they?" He asked, reaching out to take the fairy's hand as she tried to tell him her message as quickly as possible, as many times as she could.

"Denmark and Norway?" He'd never heard of them before, but they sounded bigger and scarier than he was, maybe even scarier than the Saxons who had driven his original people out.

Closing his emerald eyes he began to think; maybe he should let the Saxons handle this one... After all he didn't want to get caught...

He knew a few people had seen him, but they just passed it off as a trick of the light, or that they'd seen an old ghost or monster.

There had only been one who might have gotten a proper look at him, but that was hundreds of years ago- he'd probably be dead by now.

The stupid boy shouldn't have been wondering around so far from home anyway he had told himself, shaking his messy blond head.

But his curiosity still nagged at him; where had that boy been going home to over the sea, where had these Saxons come from, and even more urgently where had these men in the boats come from. Was it possible there were other countries out there, and if so, were there others like him?

He heard the fairy squeaking in his ear again, with more urgency; she kept looking over her shoulder as if expecting to see the attackers any moment.

"Okay, I'm going" he assured her, "thank you for the warning."

Slinging his bow and arrow over his shoulder he retreated back into the mist and heather. He'd fashioned the weapon himself, it was much more easy to use than the stone thrower he had used before.

A soft thump made him freeze. Whoever they were, wherever they were, they'd just landed on one of his coasts.

Nearby, he thought quickly. Maybe he should have a look, just to see what they were up against.

He concentrated hard, muttering, then he blinked, "Lindisfarne!"

The home of the peaceful monks, that before now had probably been happy moving about their every day duties. Would these men leave the holy men? Or were they sent by Satin himself!

Hurrying over the stable land that he knew so well he sped across the ground, pulling himself to a good hiding spot to watch to monastery, just in time to see the bearded men plunge his sword in into the monk who had come to investigate.

Where he was hiding, a shot of pain hit his chest, as though he himself had been stabbed, what was happening. This hadn't happened before when the Saxons had come!

The men rushed into the monastery. More monks falling dead.

Two young boys were still outside the monastery, looking through the bushes.

"I told you Den this place doesn't have one" one of the boys sighed, turning his back from the bracken, "lets just take what we can and go..."

He watched the two boys shrug and begin to move away back to the boats.

"He knows your there..." A voice spoke behind him, despite himself he almost let out a yell, but whatever it was covered his mouth.

He turned to see one of the largest creatures he'd ever seen, but he knew what it was.

"You're a giant" he whispered, careful so the boys wouldn't hear him.

"I'm his giant" the giant corrected him, pointing at the boy who had suggested they go home, "he knows your here, and told me to tell you that you'd better get out of here before that other one realises your here..."

Denmark flinched, sniffing the air; a blood lust appearing in his sky blue gaze. He grinned over at Norway triumphantly.

"He's here!"

Before his hidden prey could even flinch away Denmark had appeared beside him in the hedge, seizing him by the scruff.

"I've found the little lost nation!"


	13. Chapter 12

France wasn't even the first to receive the news, despite his closeness to the country where Denmark and Norway had landed.

It was a boy who came to him; not a nation France realised as he studied the all too familiar expression; but there was something there... Someone with him to perhaps...

"Where are you from?" France leaned back in his chair, eyeing the boy with a strange foreboding, perhaps even more so to the invisible one who stood by the boy's side.

"The Danish bring news" the boy bowed his head, though France sensed there was a mockery behind it. "A nation has been found in England..." The boy's voice was like smooth silk, bright blue eyes flickering as though he could see something France could not.

"A nation?" France shook his head, "they must be mistaken, I have been neighbour to that swamp pit for all my life, and never have I heard of such a thing walking about on its moors?"

"No," a knowing smirk crept over the boy's face, "but you've heard the ghost stories, perhaps met one yourself?"

By France's intake of breath the boy saw he had struck a nerve.

"Who are you?" It was France's turn to narrow his eyes, should he kill this boy now?

"Have you already forgotten me?" The boy laughed, "did we not stand on the same field as two great nations tore each other down!"

France flinched away at the sudden anger, pained at his humiliation as he sunk back into his chair.

"They needed to go..." France managed a small hiss of defiance,

"No!" The boy's ferocity made him seem like many nations rolled into one, "_you _and that other boy wanted them gone, you saw what you could gain with the place to yourselves!"

"I think you should leave," France forced himself to his feet again, "I want you to leave."

The boy bowed his head slowly, "then I will do so, but understand this; there will come a day when both you and your _friend_ understand what I will become..."

The boy took a sword from his belt, instinctively France grabbed his own, but the boy only smirked, cutting his own hand open.

"By my blood I will resurrect the Roman Empire, and it will be more holy than ever before!" With that the strange boy left the room with the other figure behind him.

The moment they were gone France leapt to his feet. Spain needed to be warned about this!

….But... France cast a long look in the direction of the northern sea... He wanted to see the nation of the country he hated so much.

He'd speak to Spain when he got back, but for now...

Leaping to his feet France called for the fastest boat the king could spare, demanding no crew or supplies; he wanted to meet with the new nation alone.

Despite the journey being in shorter time than ever, France felt like it was dragging on deliberately to spite him.

When he at last reached the shore, he found tying the larger boat more difficult than he had first anticipated.

Suppressing a growl of annoyance he finally succeeded.

"_I'm thirteen now apparently..." Spain had told him a few days ago; looking indeed a lot taller and more mature._

_France stared at him a moment then laughed, "well I must be thirteen too," he glared at Spain as if daring him to say other whys._

"_Of course, of course" Spain hurried, but France didn't miss the sceptical look in his eye._

Why wouldn't he grow!

If he did, then tying up this boat would be over in a moment, and hopefully then Denmark wouldn't have drowned the new nation... _Without him anyway..._

The sense of other nations was so strong in the air, it didn't take France too long to find the right coast.

He could see Denmark and another boy stood there, another tinier boy held up by his wrist, off his feet; like a trophy.

"So small..." France felt a pang of sympathy; him and his people hadn't been lying when they told the Saxons that a nation born on that island would be a pathetic creature indeed.

"Thought you might come," Denmark gave him a wave with his free hand, beaconing France forwards.

The smallest of the four was dropped to the ground, though Denmark still kept a firm foot on the boy's cloak so he wouldn't escape.

The child's head turned, and his green, unblinking gaze met France's. The eyes France had only seen in nightmares.

He shrank away, glancing at the two Nordic nations with fear in his eyes; he saw a look similar in Norway's eyes- not fearful, but nervous.

Gathering up his courage; France refused to be intimidated twice in one day, especially by another little boy.

"What's your name?" France demanded.

The boy remained silent.

"He won't speak..." Norway shook his head, shooting fearful looks between France and Denmark. That was when France realised, Norway wasn't nervous of the child, he was nervous of what France or Denmark might do to him.

"Answer!" Denmark shouted, drawing his sword to hold to the boy's throat. But the nation didn't react, his eyes still on France with an unreadable look on his face.

"Den..." Norway rested his hand on Denmark's sword hand, forcing him gently but firmly to lower it.

"You try!" Denmark snapped, before sheathing his sword and storming back to his cabin on the ship.

France was left alone with the green eyed boy- who now seemed to have no intention of escaping.

"What?" France was beginning to feel uncomfortable now he was alone with the smaller boy.

He flinched as the blond child reached out a tiny hand to grip France's robes.

"I'm England" he whispered,

Not knowing quite what else to say France held out his hand, "I'm France."

England looked confused by his movement when he held out his hand, "you shake it," France murmured, smiling a little as the small nation timidly took the other's hand.

"Bastard!" England snapped, before racing back into the fog.

Where France felt he should feel offended, only amusement sat; alongside what had previously haunted his nightmares, there were these- beautiful green eyes.

* * *

"Are you sure?" The older boy looked uncertainty at his brother, "this could be dangerous..."

"Do you want to be a nation or not!" Holy Roma demanded, pushing open the large oak door for his brother,

"of C-course I-I do..." His brother stammered nervously, "but shouldn't I just wait for it to happen?"

"No, I need you established now, your people will be my swords."

"But I..." Holy Roma held a finger up to silence him. He could hear people approaching from inside the cold manor.

"Have you brought him to us?" A cracked voice asked, as a cloaked figure appeared in the hall from the staircase.

"I have" Holy Roma nodded, pushing his older brother forwards.

A hand left the cloak to beckon them forwards, letting the wind slam the door shut behind them.

Now they were fully in the room the two brothers could see many other cloaked figures stood, waiting.

"Who are you?" His brother whispered; fear and apprehension in his voice,

"We are who made you all" another voice cackled,

"and we can make you too..."

"A war burning nation with a heart as invisible as you stand now."

"But I don't want that..." Holy Roma glared at him,

"you will do what I say," the tiny empire's voice was dangerously low, before he turned to leave the room, leaving his brother and the cloaked figures alone.

The moment he was gone the invisible boy found himself being approached on all sides, as they voices chanted.

"Lie on the table young one" they whispered, holding out cracked, scabbed hands to force him down onto the entrance hall's table.

They touched his body, they touched it all over; the places where their fingers touched burning.

He opened his mouth to speak, then found he couldn't.

From his chest and in his heart something was pulling free, tearing to be free.

White marrow began to stretch over him, hardening his body in place, only his eyes still able to flicker in agony.

The bone cut into his original form with hook like grip, tearing at his face for support.

He wanted to be sick, as organs unfolded within his bone casing out of nothing. The veins and blood creeping first out of his face before stretching down his neck, arms, legs- bare to the cold air that hung all around the manor.

He could not speak, only scream.

Blood pounding around his body in frenzied panic, slamming hard against his organs where veins still had not stretched.

His eyes rolled in their sockets, burning like someone was driving fire pokers through every inch of them.

Skin came like an icy shutter. Too tight around his newly grown muscles and bone.

Last of all the hair tore out of his scalp like rusty wires, tearing space for the hair to settle.

The excess blood was falling from his mouth like foam- bubbling onto the tiled floors.

Then he breathed, sitting up, eyes wide open. The cloaked figures gone.

He could only stay still until his younger brother entered- his face blank.

"Your name is now Prussia" Holy Roma told him, moving back to the door, motioning the newly named Prussia behind him.

"I am Prussia?" The new nation did not move,

"yes," Holy Roma turned with impatience, looking on his brother's new body for the first time.

While he was most definitely a nation there was something wrong...

Blood red eyes stared back at Roma, white hair that stood at odd angles, pure white teeth glittering like knives as Prussia ran his tongue over his lower set of teeth, not caring that beads of his new blood were slowly beginning to drip down his chin.

"I am Prussia" the nation repeated, getting to his feet, trembling with excitement, "I want to kill," the hysteria turned to mad bursts of laughter.

Prussia was maybe nine in appearance, just as Roma was seven.

"You will kill for me" Roma voiced carefully; this was no longer the boy he had once bossed around.

"Then who?"

**900 – The formation of the Holy Roman Empire**

Roma stared coldly at his brother.

There were times like this before when his brother would protest and get upset, but he was different now; not the coward he'd once been, with a full heart and little in his head.

Now he was sly, black hearted, and obedient- the perfect weapon.

Prussia had taken land near Denmark and the large empty country in the east.

The small nations before him, no bigger than himself cried out in pain- but Roma didn't have time to deal with little things like them.

When the nations were too weak their life wasn't worth living. He clenched his own fist, it was like closing his fingers round all of their necks in one grasp, squeezing the breath from their lungs.

Killing nations wasn't easy, and it was only possible with the smaller ones; it took a long time to do, and by the end Roma was usually completely exhausted, his energy sapped.

"Please!" One of the smallest cried out, stretching out a bloody hand in Prussia and Roma's direction.

But they were wasting their last words on the dark hearted brothers.


	14. Chapter 13

**839 – Ukraine First Mentioned**

"She's very small..." Katyusha felt the woman spin her round for better examination- she felt like an animal being sold at the market, the way the people were handling her.

"Pretty though" a man nodded, lifting her chin with his forefinger, so he could look at her properly.

Katyusha threw a frightened look at her adoptive parents.

The country had ordered that every orphan or adopted child be brought to the capital for checking.

A mad rush seemed to have broken over the world in search for nations, countries no longer felt secure unless they had one, afraid that they'd be taken over by those who did.

"How old are you?" The female examiner demanded, while the man measured her height and waist.

"I'm almost ten" Katyusha replied; she just wanted to be back with her parents, in their log house on the edge of a quiet village; she wasn't a nation, why did she have to come?

The male nodded, "she's within boundary for that age," he moved her on, ready to examine the next child.

Katyusha let out out a thankful breath, running back towards her parents; they hugged her tightly, turning to begin their long journey back.

"We'll never find the right one!" The female examiner had just let out a cry of exasperation, but Katyusha wasn't listening to her any more.

There was a sudden rumble in the ground- people froze, what was that movement just then? Had the earth shifted?

Then it gave another violent lurch, children fell to the ground, some of the woman following them. That was their last warning before the ground split.

The world seemed to freeze around her; pain tore through her chest as the ground split. The ground shook with a violence the previous little tremors had never began to think about.

Hands dropped from either side. People screamed, falling through the cracks splitting through the crust.

Her ears rang, blood running down her pale cheeks, watching wide eyed and terrified while those around her were crushed, or fell to their deaths.

After what seemed like hours, the ground steadied itself.

Katyusha didn't need to look down to know her parents were dead. A few around her were stirring; the female examiner among them.

"You?" The woman breathed, eyes fixed on the young girl.

She didn't know what else to do but run. Throwing herself into a sprint Katyusha ran, running from the city into the snowy wastelands that stretched for miles.

Her head still throbbing and eyes tearful.

**862 - "Russ" Established, Belarus recognised**

Katyusha blinked back the heavy falling snow; her childlike appearance standing out on the wasteland like a ghost.

She was watching across the border, eyes unshifting, body still.

She may have been there days, in the same position, staring; only on the feeling that she should be there because something was coming.

A cry broke the silence, and then another. One from the north, another in the west; feeble, frightened sounds.

Her reaction was like lightning, striking out first to the north, digging her bare hands into the snow.

The baby crying softened as she uncovered him, his violet eyes blinking back their tears. Before he could start crying again, Katyusha with him in her arms had bolted west; placing him down lightly to dig the other child out.

Moving with new found strength she carried both children back to the log cabin she had built near to where the three country boundaries met. She didn't want to be alone any more.

Clambering into bed she placed both babies either side of her, whispering their names into their ears.

"Goodnight Ivan, Goodnight Natalia."

She closed her eyes, feeling the steady movement of the rising and falling chests either side of her. She wasn't alone in the wilderness any more; she had a little brother and sister to take of.

**865 – The Danes invade England**

"I won't do it!" Norway glared defiantly at his friend, ignoring Denmark's tugs on his arm, he would not yield. "Why bother!"

Denmark shook his head, "we need more territory, and I like the land there, we've already settled a few of my people."

Again Norway shook his head, "I won't invade that place..." He sighed, "...But I can't stop you..." There was no point denying this; Denmark wasn't the sort of nation to be told not to do something he wanted to do.

"But don't kill him..." Norway closed his eyes, pleading his friend to agree to at least one request,

"Who?" Denmark already seemed to have forgotten the little nation he had tortured, "you mean that little pest?"

Ignoring the jab Norway nodded.

For a moment he thought Denmark was going to refuse, then the Dane pressed his nose to the other boy, a wide grin all over his face, "okay, I promise" he agreed.

For a moment Norway felt the pace of his thirteen year old heart flutter.

"Are you okay Norge?" Denmark pressed his forehead to Norway's with a look of worry, "your face is all red?"

Pushing Denmark as far away from his as possible, he called his giant to hit his invisible hand over the Dane's head.

"I'm fine you idiot!" He snapped, "go away, raid, invade; whatever it is you had in mind for the morning!" Norway stormed off, not looking back. What on earth had gotten into him!

Denmark shook his head, he didn't have time to worry about that, he had a country to invade. But how hard could it be to overthrow a set of settled Saxon soldiers?

* * *

"No, Natalia come away from there," Katyusha picked up the struggling three year old.

Natalia and Ivan were both growing well- like Katyusha they seemed to be growing their first few years in reference to their actual years of life.

As far as Katyusha could see, she hadn't aged since the earthquake that had killed her parents and so many more of her people.

"Want!" Natalia let out a stubborn grunt. Katyusha wasn't actually sure what the little girl meant by it, 'want!' But it seemed to be the only thing she could say.

Ivan on the other hand never said anything, but he always seemed pleased to see her when she returned after a walk or food gathering.

"Want!" Natalia repeated again, pointing at a mound of snow on the floor.

"What do you want?" Katyusha asked, trying for the hundredth time to get another word from the little female nation.

Natalia went red in the face as though she were struggling to say something, before shaking her head, frustrated she couldn't make herself understood.

Katyusha felt a small hand clutch hers, leading her out to where Natalia was pointing, he let go of her hand to collect a bundle of the snow to carry back to the glaring girl still on the porch of the house.

She wasn't sure exactly what that mound of snow in particular had meant but at least Natalia seemed happy now as she passed the snow from hand to hand happily, while Ivan sat down to stare out at across the land, as if he could see something there.

They were a little strange, Katyusha smiled to herself, but they were nice as well; and wonderful company after her years alone.

**870 – France fully formed**

Feeling pride brimming out of every part of him France sped across his land in the direction of Spain's.

He hadn't seen his friend for some time now, and was missing him terribly. Last he'd heard of Spain had been a letter that he hadn't actually understood. The other boy did seem a little weird at the moment, especially around pretty people.

"Spain!" He shouted across the border, knowing by now that wherever Spain was he'd hear France's call in his mind.

France didn't have to wait long to be joined by Spain. Irritatingly Spain didn't seem to have gotten any older, but still looked older than him.

"You called?" Spain smiled, giving his friend a shove, "What happened?"

Remembering the news he'd come to share France puffed out his chest proudly, "we signed a treaty today that united all of my territory..." He paused, giving a small scowl, "apart from that area where England's old Celts moved, and Normandy where Denmark's decided to treat as his holiday home."

He broke off to find Spain laughing at him, trying to cover his grin with the back of his hand. "Sorry, sorry" he apologised, "you just get worked up so easily," letting his amusement get the better of him the older nation burst into fits of laughter.

France scowled, then his lip twitched- it was hard not to laugh when Spain was, it made you feel left out if you weren't laughing too.

When they gained control of themselves they just lay back on the grass staring up at the spring sky.

"France..." Spain began, looking a little uncomfortable, "do you ever have...um... reactions?"

Blinking at him blankly, France tilted his head on one side, "what sort of reactions?" He didn't understand why Spain was looking so embarrassed.

"... Lower body reactions when someone pretty walks past?"

"Huh? Why would anything like that happen?" France shook his head, Spain wasn't making sense again.

He looked over at the Spaniard who had turned to lay back down on his back, closing his eyes thoughtfully. "I think I like pretty people" he murmured,

"What, you mean in that... icky way!" France was horrified, was this really the same Spain he had once bossed into playing sword fighting with him!

Spain scowled at him, "it's not icky, you'll understand when..." He broke off quickly, but France knew what he'd been about to say,

"when I'm older" he sighed, "I wish I would get older, but I don't know how to do it..."

"Don't worry," Spain's usual grin had returned, "you'll get there eventually..."

Both boys suddenly felt a twinge that they were being watched. France flicked his eyes to the bush behind him, conversing a silent message to the Spaniard; who nodded to show he understood.

In an instant they both lunged on the push, pinning the intruder to the ground. Spain had his hand to the spying boy's throat; smiling graciously down at him.

"Who are you!" France demanded, drawing his sword once he was sure the other boy couldn't get to his own.

"I'm just checking this place out" the boy protested, "it'll soon be my brother's anyway."

A rush of anger ran through France's body, causing a stirring wind over the vast plains of land he occupied.

"This is _my _land!" He hissed, holding his sword to the boy's throat, "tell your brother that!"

The stranger blinked at him, the coldness in his eyes vanishing for a moment, as if he recognised the French boy.

"What's your name?" The white haired boy changed the conversation, "you look younger than me," he pointed at France, "and you look older than me," he pointed at Spain, "so I must look about eleven."

Spain backed off quickly, "your a nation?"

The two friends swore they saw Prussia wince at the name but he nodded like nothing had happened.

"My name is Prussia" he introduced, "but you can call me Gilbert."

"I'm France, you can call me Francis if you like," France stuck out a grudging hand, glancing at Spain to do the same.

"Spain, just Spain," the darker tanned boy smiled welcoming, "and as long as you don't try and invade either of us, I'm sure we can be friends."


	15. Chapter 14

**871 – Saxons defeat Danes at Ashdown**

England stood by the new power of the country.

The King of Wessex sent his men down into battle to meet Denmark's Vikings at full pelt. He gave his nation a swift nod before charging after them.

The excitement rippled through England like a thrusting wave, his tiny six year old body quivering with excitement. They were going to win this one, he just knew it; he could feel the power of his people behind him: "Get out!" They all screamed.

He wondered whether Denmark went into battle with his people, he wondered if other nations did.

He'd only ever met three other nations; one seemed nice but England never really saw him after their first meeting, the other was Denmark who led the vicious Vikings against him; the last was France...

England felt a strange stir in his stomach, he wasn't sure he trusted the younger of the three.

Occasionally France would visit him, but he never stayed long; it felt more to England like a sympathy visit.

He turned his attention back to the battle. Everyone felt sorry for him, or saw him as a vulnerable target, but he'd show them. Even if he couldn't change all of those points, he'd prove to the world that he would not be pitied.

There was a loud cry from below as the Danes turned on their heels, rushing back in the direction they'd come. Probably to regroup up north.

Victory was theirs.

Across the country his people cheered, full of triumph.

**875 – Alfred, King of Wessex crushes the Danes at the battle of Eddington**

The small blond boy felt a rush through his blood as he looked down at the boy who had once had the better of him.

Denmark was bleeding and tired looking, head hung; but England knew his blue eyes were still wide with a madness that lay deep in his mind.

"We win" England whispered, "You've lost, I want you gone by tommorow. Your people may stay, we'll settle something, but they are no longer yours."

Denmark tried to make a grab for his axe, lying near England's feet in an almost taunting way.

Two Saxon soldiers pulled him back, pulling at his arms like chains.

"Bastard!" Denmark screamed, England wasn't sure whether he was swearing in their international tongue or his own language- they shared the same word.

England smirked, "go back and tell everyone who beat the Viking warriors" he whispered, unable to keep the pleasure from his tone, "you'll tell them that, right?"

The threat in England's tone was obvious, but either Denmark didn't care or hadn't understood it.

"I won't tell a soul, I'll say I left because your country was such a bog!" Denmark fought his guards enough to look up at England. Wide grin under open mad eyes. Denmark was laughing at him!

Turning away the younger nation swept a hand over his shoulder, "see him to a boat, see him onto it, then make sure he doesn't come back."

**879 – England split between Saxons and Danes**

"You knew something like this would happen," England narrowed his eyes, "we should have sent them back with _him._"

But the king of Wessex just ignored him. It was really difficult having so many kings in your country.

It appeared the people were not happy with the current situation- including being bed fellows to the Danish Vikings, and vice versa.

England had tried to warn the king this might happen, but King Alfred had been determined to keep them, why England would never know.

"We could split a line down the middle..." Alfred pondered, glancing at his nation for approval.

"Split a line down what middle!" England demanded, though he had a good idea what the king was hinting.

"Split the country, the Vikings can have the north and we'll have the south, that sounds fair," Alfred shrugged like the solution had been found. To England the idea seemed preposterous; split the land in two! It just wasn't done like that.

"You can't!" The tiny boy snapped, green eyes burning; he felt worry prick him- what if a new nation was born on his territory because of this!

"They will still be part of England and under our dominant laws, but we can't mix the two races any longer," the king strutted from the room.

England knew why this was happening; they were underestimating him, because he looked so young.

Just because he was small didn't make him any less capable than anyone else, in fact he could beat them all with one hand tied behind his back!

Why did he have to get involved in the first place!

What had happened to his days of freedom on the moors with his fairies and creatures... But now the moors were being drained for farm land, trees cut down for space and wood.

His once beautiful, mysterious country seemed to be falling apart around his eyes.

**900 – Magyars from Hungary overrun Austria**

He licked his lips, watching the soldiers tear down houses, burning buildings, grabbing whatever they could.

That wuss Austria couldn't do anything about it. France didn't care about him any more, and with threats coming from the west you needed as much land as you could get your hands on.

Hungary sensed Austria's clumsy movements towards him, one thing was clear, this nation could never fight.

He brushed the older boy aside like an fly, continuing to watch.

"Stop this!" The twelve year old snapped, as if it would change Hungary's mind- the thought was laughable. Not that Hungary had any time to be laughing over excuses for nations.

His mind turned to the warning of the soldiers in the west. The Holy Roman Empire they called him; they said he was planning on travelling east for new land at some point, and Hungary would be prepared.

Even now he could feel soldiers pacing his border, like they were springing, getting ready to attack...

"We're done here" Hungary called out to his men, sweeping them back in the direction of their own country.

Giving Austria a final kick Hungary hurried after them. He didn't want to worry his people but he'd just felt someone stepping onto his land- not an army... But a threat all the same.

"I'm going on ahead" Hungary called to her general, knowing he could travel faster alone, and getting home fast now, seemed like top priority.

The intruder was moving around like a shadowed snake in Hungary's head- red eyes gleaming at the land with a hungry look in its eyes.

He'd crossed the border into his own country. A nation always knew when it was home, it was like a heavy weight had been lifted from your chest.

Changing direction from the capital Hungary ran onwards feeling himself getting closer and closer to the intruder.

His sword was already to hand, if he was quick this would be over before whoever it was knew what had hit them.

Springing into a lunge Hungary knocked them to the floor, pinning them to the ground with his waist, sword pointed directly at their throat.

"That's the second time!" A voice hissed, tensing under Hungary's body, "I expect you've come to tell me to piss off too!"

Suddenly they stopped, blinking up at Hungary. Green eyes met red, for a moment a shot jolted through them.

For Hungary it was a jolt of immediate mistrust, this was a nation... But something was wrong with it, somehow it didn't seem natural...

"Do you mind!" The stranger snapped.

Hungary realise he'd started to apply pressure with his sword; grunting darkly Hungary sheathed his sword, though he didn't get off the other nation.

Hungary looked the boy up and down. He must be about his age, with messy white hair, red slit like eyes, and pale skin.

"I'm Prussia," he clearly felt Hungary's studying gaze on him, "I was sent here by my brother to search for valuable land..." He trailed off, turning his head away from Hungary's studying gaze, for some reason he was feeling a little uncomfortable, though he couldn't decide why...

"I will not be invaded by some mini-nation!" Hungary growled, looking ready to pull his sword again.

Usually Prussia would have felt it his duty to defend his brother's name, he even felt this with France and Spain... But with this strange boy he smiled.

"He swears he'll grow" Prussia laughed, "and his land keeps getting bigger, but he doesn't..."

Feeling Hungary's weight shift off him he sat up. The other nation was laughing as well- clutching his chest and rolling about on the ground.

"It wasn't that funny" Prussia muttered, feeling embarrassed.

"Yes it was" Hungary spluttered, "your eyebrow twitches when you laugh!"

Prussia's face flushed, "that's not true!" He snapped, trying to keep a straight face as Hungary bowled him to the ground again; but this time it was a friendly gesture.

"Your a weird nation..." Hungary sniffed his hair, then his face;"something's different about you?" he recoiled quickly, Hungary charging into his chest.

They both lay breathless along side each other, laughing in short gasps.

Prussia didn't know what feeling this was, but he felt more relaxed than he had done in a long time.

"After visiting this land..." Prussia began before Hungary could get his breath back, "I have decided it isn't fit to build a house on, I'll tell my brother there's no point coming here," he grinned cheekily at the other boy.

"You'd better" Hungary threatened, trying to kick him with the little energy he had left.

"Well I'd better go," Prussia pulled himself to his feet, turning to head back home where Roma was waiting. Then he stopped, looking over his shoulder, "I'll come back a visit soon, see if your any better at knocking me over then."

"See you then weirdo!" Hungary shouted after him challengingly, waving until he was out of sight.

Prussia swallowed, had he really decided to lie to his brother for_ him_... The idea of setting Hungary up as a target made his chest hurt, he didn't have a choice, besides there was plenty of other land for Roma to choose from..."

"We were looking for you!" Prussia came to a halt, almost crashing into France and Spain. They had strayed into Roma's territory to look for him.

Feeling a flash of worry he began herding them back to France's border.

"Careful!" He hissed, "do you want Roma to know you've been trespassing!"

"I told you it wasn't a good idea" Spain murmured to the youngest boy; France looked shifty, muttering an apology.

"We just wanted to know where you were, we haven't seen you in ages..." France shook his head with worry, "you should visit more often."

Prussia sighed, in truth he'd been busy with the work his brother had set him, but his friends were right, he should make time to visit them more often. Maybe he should ask them about Hungary...

"I met another nation today..." He began, unsure how to continue, "and... well it was weird, I felt this really funny feeling, and..." He trailed off blushing.

France didn't seem to understand what he was talking about, but Spain was nodding.

"Yeah, that happens to me sometimes too, I think it's just normal..." Spain went a little red, "but it always happens when pretty people walked past..."

Prussia nodded, but this had never happened to him before.

"Will it happen all the time now?" He asked worriedly,

"I suppose so" Spain nodded, "I only have personal experience, it hasn't happened to France yet..."

"And it never will!" France interrupted him, "why anyone would go googly eyed for anyone I don't know, it's all disgusting!"

Prussia froze, Spain hadn't explained the reaction meant you were attracted to someone!

But Hungary! That was ridiculous, he had taken immediate admiration for the other boy, that was true, but to be attracted to him!

He shivered, that bit must be wrong, after all Spain said it himself; he only had personal experience to go on.


	16. Ages

Greece – 12

Turkey – 18

France – 10

Spain – 13

Italy – 9

Romano – 9

Austria – 12

Japan – 13

England – 6

Ukraine – 12

Belarus – 3

Russia – 3

Denmark – 13

Norway – 13

Prussia – 11

HRE – 9

Hungary – 10

Poland – 12


	17. Chapter 15

**955 – Austria comes under Holy Roman Empire's rule**

Prussia felt a quiver of satisfaction as he watched the Austrian boy quiver under his foot, where he held him in place while they waited for his brother to arrive.

"Brute" Austria huffed, giving up on his struggle, going limp under the other nation's foot, "your brother's getting too big, one of these days he'll just fall in on himself."

Prussia answered the point by digging his heel in harder to Austria's spine, grinning as the dark haired boy gave a wail of pain.

"Cry baby" Prussia sniggered, "no wonder you keep getting attacked, your too weak to defend yourself."

Austria burned with rage beginning to struggle again. It was true he wasn't a good fighter, but he wasn't weak either.

… Everyone else was just stronger.

"What's going on?" Hungary strolled up to them from where it looked like he'd been watching from behind a tree.

Prussia tensed, his friend had to get out of here before Roma turned up.

"My brother's taking over here" Prussia called out to him hoping that would satisfy his curiosity.

Hungary threw back his head and laughed, "I knew it would happen one day," he strolled boldly up to Austria; poking his head with the tip of his muddy boot, smirking as he saw Austria recall in disgust.

Then he blinked up and Hungary, "don't girls like you have better things to do with your time?"

The two bullying nations froze, exchanging a glance.

"Hungary's a guy!" Prussia snapped, "don't you know another man when you see one!"

Austria shook his head, but he didn't say anything else, except, "Well '_he_' had better get out of here, I just felt Holy Roman Empire cross my boundary."

Prussia suddenly felt it too, his gaze fell to Hungary who was looking excitedly in the direction of the hills.

"Great I'll fight him too!" He exclaimed, drawing his sword,

"No!" Prussia's intensity frightened him a little, "No, you have to go!"

Hungary didn't look happy but at least he seemed to calm down enough to see sense, because he turned on his heels and fled.

Roma was just appearing over the hills, almost looking comical dressed in the dark uniform yet no higher than Prussia's waist. But the air that the small boy carried with them was enough to spike even Prussia's black heart.

The boy beneath him had forgotten about struggling, and was no emitting small terrified whimpers. Prussia realised that that Hungary must of fled because of that rather than his warnings.

"Is this him?" Roma asked, narrowing his eyes at the older boy, who refused to meet his gaze.

"Yes," Prussia nodded, removing his foot from the Austrian; he felt no sympathy in his heart, only a strong indifference- it had nothing to do with him.

This was his brother's war, he was just the sword that was carried in his hands.

**966 – Poland's first recorded leader**

The palace was alive with noise, everyone was bustling with excitement. The moment Mieszko had been crowned king he had ordered a country wide search for the nation they wanted so much. The men had been gone a year now, and were expected home today.

All the wives of the gentlemen were wondering around in the palace looking excited and chatting in quick hurried voices.

Feliks craftily stole his way around beneath their feet, blinking sweetly round at all the young ladies, as if he had made a wrong turning and was lost.

"It's little Feliks!" One exclaimed, hurrying over to the boy with her friends. They were made up of the wives mothers had chosen for their sons for when they got back.

"You know I swear we were once the same age..." One girl of about sixteen commented, rummaging around in her dress for something; emerging with a golden hair slide. "There, we thought it would look good on you."

The girls all giggled as the slide was fixed in Feliks' shoulder length blond hair.

He'd miss them when they were gone, but that was life. He moved homes every six years or so to stop people questioning his age. He knew what he was, but he didn't have to abide by it; those people could keep searching as long as they liked, he didn't have to be found.

"Girls come away from that boy!" One of the women called, shooting a nasty look at Feliks, "you shouldn't be mixing with servants."

The girls wondered away looking irritated, waving over their shoulders at Feliks.

The blond boy had just noticed one of the maids marching towards him; he knew he was for it now.

Deciding he should scarper before he was caught, Feliks dived between chatting people deeper into the crowd, where he knew the maid would find it difficult to follow him.

"They're back!" A loud cry went up through the hall, as women panicked, trying to make themselves look as respectable as possible, fluffing their daughters up as quickly and delicately as they could.

This was the perfect moment to sneak off, but Feliks wanted to know exactly what had happened in the useless search.

The men did indeed look frustrated and dejected, shaking their heads sadly at the womenfolk as they trudged in.

"We looked everywhere" Feliks heard them sigh as they kissed their wives and children.

The unspoken question on everybody's lips was 'who's going to tell the King!' But nobody dared raise it.

The new king had a bad temper, not one you wanted to see either. Feliks realised many of the people were scampering to get to the back of the hall, close to the door; they wanted to get out if the king started shooting arrows all over the place.

The doors to the King's entrance were swept open with a flourish, and the man himself entered.

"Well?" He asked expectantly, looking round at the cowering people, "did you find it?"

Nervous glances were exchanged, all daring the other to tell him. But the king seemed to gather by their nervous squabbling.

"You didn't find it?" His voice was dangerously low, eyes narrowed into slits, "Then why are you doing all back here?"

Again nervous looks were exchanged. Feliks had the impression a few people had already sneaked out.

"You gave up, is that right?" He questioned, moving a searching finger over the those that were left. No one answered him.

"if someone doesn't speak up I'll kill the whole lot of you!" The king suddenly snapped, reaching for his sword.

Feliks felt the terror whip round the people, he could pinpoint the girl who had given him the hair slide in the crowd. She was clinging to her father's arm and crying, "you can't daddy" she whispered.

Then he realised, this man was going to speak. He could see him pushing through the crowd, and he knew the king could see it to.

"Well?" He asked.

The girl's father opened his mouth to reply, but Feliks (taken by a sudden spur of madness) got there first.

"It's like you can see sire, the nation isn't here," Feliks moved forwards, pushing the girl's father back into the crowd as he went. He could see the king's livid look fix on him.

"And who are you!" He demanded, walking up to the small twelve year old boy,

Feliks replied swiftly and smoothly, deciding the king already intended to kill him so there was no point speaking any differently.

"My name is Feliks, one of your servants," he stared the king back in the eye, earning a gasp from the retreating people.

"How dare you speak to your king like that!" The king growled, letting his rage speak especially through the last words.

"Why not?" Feliks shot back cheekily.

But the audience no longer seemed to care what he said, they were staring at his chest with their mouths open.

Looking back at the king Feliks saw the same look on his face. That was when the pain split from his side- he was bleeding, a silver knife sticking from his chest.

Mouth open Feliks stared around at the people in the room, struggling for something to say. But before he could the King had seized him by the roots of his hair and was dragging him through the door the king had come, into the throne room.

"Bastard!" Feliks felt the king's sword hilt butt him in the head, "why haven't you spoken up!" He hit him again, "why not just tell us all!"

Feliks gave a short gasp for breath as the downpour of beatings stopped.

The doors opened, and two of the maids Feliks recognised stood there, exchanging discreet worried looks.

"Make up a room for it" the king growled, kicking Feliks towards them, "keep it nice, remember we don't want people to _know_ their nation's suffering."

Feliks picked up on the word "know" and shivered, he hoped this king wouldn't live for too long.

**997 – Hungary ruled by King Stephen**

What Austria had said had been bothering Prussia for a long time; He'd thought Hungary was a girl!

How could anyone think that! You only had to look at him to be able to tell. What part of Hungary even suggested he was a girl?

"Hey, Prussia," someone tackled him to the floor, landing a playful punch on his shoulder, "you'd better have a pretty good reason for being on my land," he sounded serious but Prussia knew he was joking.

"Our _new _king might have something to say about it." Prussia could see he was excited about finally getting a king.

"Going to tell on me are you?" Prussia smirked, sitting up to force Hungary off of him.

"I might not this time" Hungary rolled away jumping back to his feet, then he gave a wince, Prussia had noticed Hungary had been doing this a lot recently.

"Are you okay?" He asked, peering at his friend carefully; Hungary appeared to be clutching at his chest.

"I've just got these weird pains in my chest" Hungary muttered, blinking quickly, "I don't know what's causing it..."

Prussia's heart stood still a moment, then he smirked, throwing himself at Hungary and groping at his chest, "weak point confirmed!"

He ran away laughing, as his mind processed what he'd just felt, then he stopped, eyes widening at the other boy.

"That... that..." Shouldn't it have been flat where he had just touched, then he remembered Austria's words. "You, can't be a..."

Hungary was looking at him carefully, changing tactics Prussia scooted up to him, "Um... Hungary...You do have a penis don't you?"

The boy blinked at him, "what a weird question, of course I do..."

Prussia smiled thankfully, "sorry, I shouldn't have doubted it,"

"...Well I will do once it's grown" Hungary continued like 'She' hadn't heard him.

To the eleven year old boy it felt like his stomach had just plummeted through the ground. Hungary was a girl! And she didn't know it!

"Now you look ill" Hungary laughed, patting him hard on the back, "what's up with you?"

"Hungary, you do know that..." He tried to explain but she was already shaking her head, turning her back,

"I'd better get going, I've got a palace to defend."

With that she was gone, leaving a speechless Prussia behind her.

How hadn't he noticed? How had Austria noticed?

What about all their play fighting and manly chats, Hungary couldn't be a girl after all that; it just didn't seem right...

With a sickening thump Prussia realised what he'd done mere moments ago; he'd just groped her!

Letting out a wail of panic he shot back across Hungary's land, through his brother's territory and onto France's to the place near Spain's border where they usually met.

When he arrived he sat and waited for the others, he knew they'd get here now; he was letting off so much panic that it would be impossible for them not to sense it- especially because he was on France's territory.

"Prussia, what's wrong?" France was the first to arrive, he was staring nervously at Prussia from a little way off.

"I-I just g-groped Hungary!" He trembled, falling to his knees in defeat, "god will hate me now."

"But Hungary's a guy?" Spain had just arrived, "groping a guy isn't bad... Is it?"

France glared at the Spaniard, "what have you been doing!"

"HUNGARY'S A GIRL!" Prussia almost screamed, letting the finality of the moment hit him. He saw France and Spain's jaws drop open around him.

"But, how's that possible, all nation's are guys aren't they?" France spluttered,

"does she know?" Spain asked at the same time.

"I have no idea" Prussia answered France's question, "and no she doesn't know" he turned to Spain looking exhasted.


	18. Chapter 16

**1009 – Lithuanians mentioned as vicious fighters**

Poland had a new king by this point, and he treated the nation a little more fairly than the last. So Poland just supposed that as kings went this one was pretty good.

"Mister Poland, the king wants to see you in the throne room," a maid knocked on his door, disturbing his mid-morning nap. But he knew he should get up to see his ruler if he wanted to see him before their meeting this evening.

Strolling through the corridors he nodded at a few of the oldest servants who had been nothing but children when he'd been named a nation, it must be painfull for them to see his body hadn't aged.

When he arrived in the throne room he found not only his king but another man in what he supposed must be his equivalent of grand clothes. In the newcomer's arms a baby stirred, opening his soft moss green eyes to look at Poland with apparent interest.

"This is our nation..." The man bowed before Poland, presenting the child like it was some sort of gift, "I ask you and your country to take care of it till it's big enough, I... I don't trust my people around him at the moment..." The ruler looked shifty, offering the baby again.

Poland grunted, what did he want with a baby to take care of, sure he was kind of cute but it would restrict him in every way possible.

"We'll take him," the king caught Poland's eyes, fixing a firm look on the blond nation.

With a sound of annoyance Poland took the baby from the man, "what's his name?" He sighed, deciding he'd better know that at least.

"Lithuania" the man nodded, "someone will come back for him some day, I hope he grows with you."

The man nodded to Poland's king before quitting the room.

The baby in his arms closed its eyes again as if to assure the one that held him that he wouldn't be a bother.

"You can go to" the king dismissed him, "The maids should have gotten the cot into your room by now."

Poland was about to protest, he had to share a room with it as well! But interpreting the king's expression, he closed his mouth again.

Turning to go with the baby in his arms.

Maybe it wouldn't be too bad, it would be company to have someone around he could boss around, who wouldn't get old.

"Come on Liet" he muttered, resting his chin on the baby's scruff of brown hair.

**1013 – Spain broken into small Feuding kingdoms **

His people were tearing at him, pulling him apart, fighting like children over the territories he'd been born for them to share.

Letting out a breathless gasp he fell to the ground. What were they doing!

Was this it for him, would he die like Roman Empire and Germania, was he no longer needed? Would smaller countries sprout from the new kingdoms?

He didn't want to die, it was unfair!

Forcing himself back onto his feet he shook his head, he would not die, he would not let this effect him; let them try to tear him apart...

A dark shadow passed over Spain's mind, a wonderful blood-curdling rush ran through him, as his green eyes darkened beyond recognition. He would survive.

Turning back through his lands, he seemed to go with a new stride, feeling himself grow a little taller as he went- progressing maybe a year or two.

Not that he had any time or thought of congratulating himself, he had something to do; involving his old home. The first settlement on his soil.

It had progressed into a busy town since then, but he could feel in his heart that no one had disturbed his hiding place, where unbeknownst to Rome and Marina he had kept that item; the one he had first killed with.

Dropping to his knees in the field that still stood, he began to dig with his nails into the hard ground. Ignoring the seething pain from his blooded finger tips.

Then he felt the hilt. Pulling it clear of the ground he held it out to examine.

The silver blade had not rusted, the handle still stood firm; the scythe in perfect condition- possibly even more so than when he'd left it.

Vision obscured by red he turned to walk back through the town.

"Hey, you!" He heard a drunken call as a man tapped him on the shoulder, his friends close behind him, "you look like you're from one of those southern places" he slurred, "I've got a good mind to finish you off here and now..."

Spain's eyes narrowed with excitement and power, his people could not get to him, he couldn't let them; he'd kill them before he saw that happen.

He moved his wielding arm so quickly the man didn't even knew what hit him; he lay in two pieces on the ground before the others could process what was happening.

He supposed he'd been merciful killing him that quickly; he'd have to be slower with the rest. Turning to the onlookers with a white toothed perfect grin, he lifted the scythe high. Perfect madness.

**1015 – Son's of Volodmyr the great struggle to rule Ukraine between them**

Katyusha felt like the world was falling around her, at the very least her country was.

"What's happening?" Ivan whispered, covering his ears like that would stop it- was his and Natalia's countries being effected too?

"Stop it!" Natalia wailed, covering her ears too, closing her eyes tightly, head butting against Katyusha's leg.

"I can't make it stop," Katyusha picked her up, hugging her close to her quickly growing chest, but it seemed the going on six (in apperance) year old didn't want a hug.

She waved her arms, pointing at Ivan crying, "want, want, want!"

Katyusha put her down, watching her speed off to her adoptive brother and wrap her arms firmly around him, with a face that said 'I'm doing this, whether he likes it or not'.

Ivan looked older than her, maybe approaching ten, while Katyusha had forced herself onwards to fifteen. She was determined to stay older than her two charges, at least while they were still living with her.

Another shot of pain went through her, they were fighting again- why couldn't they just manage the kingdom between them, there didn't need to be wars fought about it!

Ivan had removed his hands from his ears by now, and was looking down at Natalia with nervousness, that normally would have made Katyusha laugh.

He seemed to be trying to push the girl off him without letting her know he was doing it.

**1066 – Normans invade England**

France stood along side them as they crossed the channel- even if they weren't officially part of France, they still answered to his king, so they were under his jurisdiction. Besides, he glanced wistfully at the fast approaching island, he wanted to see the tiny nation at least set up properly.

He hadn't been to visit for at least a hundred years- he'd been to worried about the growing Holy Roman Empire next door; but rumour had it that England hadn't aged since the day he'd been found by Denmark and Norway.

"We'll take it" William of Normandy breathed, as though God himself was pushing them onwards. Maybe under France the little nation would grow to a more respectable size, and possibly with someone to take care of France would grow a bit more as well.

It had been a lonely fifty years; Prussia had spent more and more time with Hungary, and Spain almost seemed to have vanished into his own country, though France could still feel him there.

How lonely it must have been for the island nation who shared borders with only brothers who wanted nothing to do with him.

He was pretty sure England wouldn't be waiting for him with open arms, but France knew this was best for him in the long run.

People were readying rowing boats and throwing down the anchor, they'd be landing soon.

"I hear the fake English king is waiting for us a few miles from London, he has already fought a war in the north with his brother, we'll win this," William sounded confident as he helped France onto the rowing boat with him.

"Careful" France warned, remembering the stories told to him by the old Saxon kings, and what Denmark had always said, "this place is a little harder to invade than you might first think."

William didn't reply, but France hoped he'd taken it on-board, he wanted to win this fight as much as the Norman's did.

He didn't know why he always felt so bothered about the little nation. There must be many like him around the world, why did he feel so special?

We're here," William gave him a small tap as the rowing boat hit the shoreline. The other soldiers were already dismounting, bigger boats were bringing the horses over. France knew the horses alone would give them a massive advantage over England's soldiers.

Suddenly William fell forward, stumbling on the side of the boat. Gasps went up from his men, was this a bad omen.

Then William pulled himself up again, the sand of the beach in his hand, "there!" He announced, "I have seized England's shore!"

A loud cheer rang out, as they relaxed, they would win this; then William could take over and France could visit more easily.

Looking around as they marched through the country France realised the Saxons had done a good job- the marshes had been drained for farmland, making it easier to walk about on, there also seemed to be less mist and fog, though the sky was still a grey colour.

"Can you see them?" They had set up camp a little way off from London, and now it was dark they could see the fires on the top of the hill up ahead. That must be where the English had set up camp- that left them with a problem, even with horses it was hard to fight up hill.

France could feel the weight of his sword on his waist, would he be expected to fight? Would England be expected to fight?

The thought of the tiny boy running around the feet of the giant men made France shiver. He'd find England as quickly as possible in the fight, before he could get hurt. This fight was between the Norman duke and English king, neither of them needed to get hurt.

The next morning was crisp and surprisingly warm. The English knew they were there, they already had their soldiers lined up on the hill, looking down at the Norman camp.

The Normans began getting themselves ready, no one wanted the fight to carry on for too long. Battles were gruesome things, and it was always better to have them over and done with.

For a moment there was silence, as the two armies faced each other across the battlefield, then somebody, from one side shouted "charge!" And the Norman army went for them.

Most were cut down by the English archers on the hill, who all had clear targets from their position. France ran with them to join those at the front, cutting down those who tried to stop him.

He didn't want to get involved too much, after all Normandy technically wasn't part of his name, even if his territorial boundaries lapped against it.

Then he saw the youngest one there, a small knife in his hand, looking absolutely petrified as he tried to ward off a Norman soldier with a massive sword ready to bring down on his head.

France sprinted towards the boy, scooping him into his arms before the sword could come down on either of them.

They fell to the ground with a crash; before England had time to collect himself France had grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the fighting, to the safety of the forest to the edge of the field.

"What are you doing!" England wailed, thrashing to get away, but France only clung to him,

"You can't go back!" France hissed, "just wait here till the battle's over, it's between men not nations" he tried to explain to the messy haired boy.

Thankfully England did stop thrashing though he still looked angry, "why are you invading, I thought you hated it here?" France saw a strange flicker run through England's eyes as he spoke.

"_I'm _not invading" France pointed out, "Normandy likes to think of themselves as their own country, but I'm still their nation, I just came to help..."

He knew England like him could feel his men falling down on the field, crying out their last breaths.

France could feel William's plan unfolding in his brain, he knew now they would definitely win.

"Retreat!" William shouted to his men. They looked up in surprise but turned anyway.

"There" England sniffed, "you lost."

France said nothing, but he pulled England onto his lap, hugging him tightly, closing his eyes, waiting for it to start.

England screamed. The English had charged after the Normans down the hill to drive them off, but the Normans had turned and were fighting again.

The English no longer held dominance over the hill, and they couldn't stop themselves in time to avoid the heavy swords thrusted by the Normans.

England's soldiers were now falling in greater numbers than before, sending ripples of pain through the boy France held on his lap.

"I'm sorry" France whispered, pressing his face to England's hair, trying to comfort him. The crying seemed to be tearing a hole in his heart.

Then France felt something warm running onto his hands. Blood!

Spinning England round to face him he searched for the source of the injury. Blood was flowing from his left eye, spreading all over his pale face.

"Hold on, hold on!" France panicked, he felt England beginning to go limp in his arms, "don't die, I didn't want you to die!"

England's eyes were fluttering shut; tears and blood dampening his expression.

Then France did something he never thought he'd do- he pressed his lips to England's forehead, willing life back into him.

_Authors note: 'The fake king'. Both William of Normandy and Harold were promiced the throne. Edward the confessor (The previous king) was a homosexual and had no children, so he named Harold the King his heir. But before this Harold had promised to support William's claim to the throne. So the Norman's believed that William had every right to the throne._


	19. Chapter 17

England let his eyes flutter open, he could feel something strange underneath him. Where was he?

As his vision cleared he began to make out stone walls and decorations around him, he was lying on something other than the moss and hay he usually slept on; it felt like one of those beds he'd sometimes seen people on through their windows.

He sat up, feeling his eye string he fell back down again, emitting a small whimper that woke the boy at his bedside from his own slumber.

"You're awake!" France let out a breath of relief, grasping England's small hand in his own. His face was streamed with tears, and eyes full of guilt. But England was okay.

"Let me see your eye," France clambered onto the bed, resting his hand on the boy's cheek to tilt his head in the right direction. The bleeding had stopped, but his eyelid looked damaged and scratched, it would probably leave a small scar.

"Why am I here?" England asked, managing to control his pain enough to sit up. He didn't want to appear weak in front of the French boy.

"You'll be living here from now on" France explained, "all nations live with their leaders, it's silly not to." He saw the look of horror appearing on England's face.

France went on, "that's why I've come, I want to teach you to be a proper nation so you can defend yourself properly..."

He felt a funny twist in his stomach as he looked on at the pouting child, his heart beat increasing. What was happening to him?

"You'll make me more powerful?" England finally spoke, his voice hopeful, eyes brimming with expectancy. France nodded, after all that's what he wanted, it wouldn't do the little nation any harm to know how to defend himself.

But first he had to see him properly dressed, it didn't do for him to be seen with someone walking around in a green cloak all the time.

"Wait here" he grinned, rushing from the room to find one of the female servants, they'd be sure to have something that England could wear.

He couldn't find any servants but he did find a bundle of small looking clothes that had been brought over from his home that he was sure England would fit into.

Searching through the pile, throwing the excess clothes all over the floor, he finally found something that looked a little like a green version of what he himself was wearing, perfect.

He ran back up the stairs with the robes in his arms, to find England pulling at the curtains round the bed, a look of pure puzzlement on his face.

"What are these for?" He asked, looking up when France entered,

"You pull them round your bed when you don't want to be disturbed" France told him, remembering that was what his boss had told him when he'd asked the same question.

He held out the green robe to England, smiling, "here, I got you some new clothes"

"don't want 'em!" England snapped quickly, clinging to his cloak protectively, "there's nothing wrong with my clothes!"

France had many reasons why there was something wrong with them, bad taste being one, but he chose not to mention that one; instead he went for the more obvious.

He tugged his finger through a hole in the sleeve, then on the waist, stomach, and neck, "it's full of holes L'Angleterre" France told him.

England's expression turned as cold as ice when France spoke his name in his native language. "Don't call me that!" He snapped, hitting the other boy round the head, smirking at France's affronted look.

France gave England's robe a tug, "do you want me to change you?" He kept a threat in his tone, as England pushed him off the bed, pulling the curtains around him, so he could get changed.

France laughed, grinning when England pulled back the curtains to reveal his new clothes, his face blushing deep red, as he eyed the outfit suspiciously.

"It's a dress!"

"Non, non," France waved his hands, "the latest fashion in France"

France clambered onto the bed again, glancing out of the window, "we'd best get some sleep" he yawned, "now I know your okay I can relax enough," he drew the curtains around them, pulling the covers over them both.

"Goodnight" England muttered,

"Bon nuit" France grinned, knowing England had just glared at him in the darkness.

"Mr England, Mr France?" The servant shook them lightly, he didn't understand how two boys who had been practically asleep for the last week could now oversleep the night after they decided to wake up.

His first sign of life was when France gave a little sniff, eyes twitching with annoyance. He waved the servant away, before stretching out his body, giving England a poke with his foot.

The little nation stirred, opening his large green eyes sleepily.

Did England's face look a little older maybe... France began to study himself, was he imagining feeling taller?

"Wake up! Wake up!" France almost threw the sleepy nation out of bed, "we're bigger! Look!"

At those words the anger from the now wide awake England changed to excitement; he was indeed bigger, the robes he had put on last night that had been a little too big for him, now rested just above his ankles.

France's body was taller as well, he looked slimmer, and more mature- though England soon found this was in expression alone.

France's hands swooped under his arms lifting him kicking off the ground, "look, I can still pick you up" the French boy grinned, swinging the now eight year old looking England around. "I must be about twelve now, that's almost Spain's age when I last saw him..."

England watched France trailing off, a worried look on his face, "I'm starting to think there's something wrong with him..."

France could see now that his brain wasn't so clouded with ten year old innocence, that he probably should have checked things out earlier.

"Can I come?" England tugged at France's robes, trying not to flush with embarrassment; but he'd never seen another country before, even if he'd met nations, it would be nice to see what the rest of the world looked like.

France looked a uncertain, he didn't want to feel responsible if the child got hurt, but he could tell by England's face that it was more of a demand than a question.

"Fine" he sighed, moving over to his possessions; a servant must have brought up while they were asleep.

He pulled on of his spare swords from its scabbard to examine the sharpness, and weight. He'd better give England something to defend himself with, and that silly knife wasn't really much good.

"I have got something" England told him, running over to another corner of the room, "I made it a while ago, but I haven't used it too much," he held up a bow for France to see, "I can aim well" England assured him.

Shaking his head; he did really want to get going now. France motioned for England to follow him, hoping they wouldn't be stopped on their way out of the castle.

"How do we get there?" England's tone sounded excited as he spoke, hopping to keep up with France's suddenly longer strides.

"We take a boat across the sea to my country, then we walk like how you'd get from the coast to London,"

"No point in England is more than seventy-four and a half miles from the sea" England recited, before turning on France with keen eyes, "how big is your country?"

Laughing, France thought hard, "about three times the size of England, Wales, and Scotland combined."

Fighting off the temptation to snigger at England's gawping face he swung the little boy onto his shoulders, "we're almost at the shore."

He felt England flinch a little at the sight of the boats, he must be remembering the boats that Denmark and Norway had brought with them.

"Come on" he encouraged, placing him on the ground again, so he could get into the rowing boat without feeling forced.

"Do we row?" England looked sceptically out at the broad sea before him,

"It's not far from here to Callé" France assured him, "and for us nations, hardly any time at all."

France paddled the boat out with the oars, deciding he'd better do it this time so England could see how it was done.

"Who is Spain?" England tilted his head and asked for the first time who they were actually going to see.

"He's an old friend of mine," France gave a small chuckle, "and when I say that, I mean we've practically known each other hundreds of years" he smirked, and England's unamused face.

Across the sea they could just about make out a distant shore.

"It must be nice having friends like that..." England's voice was so quiet France wasn't sure whether he was meant to hear it.

"I'm your friend L'Angleterre..." France stopped rowing for a moment to ruffle the English boy's already messy hair.

"Are nations all friends out here?" The boy continued, his innocence almost overwhelming the older nation, "do they not fight?"

France sighed, realising they'd hit the shore line. He helped England out and took in a deep breath before replying, "some nations are just destined not to get on, just like people, we can't be friends with everyone."

He wasn't sure England had completely understood what he'd said but he didn't want to pressure the boy too much.

"Come on, lets go find Spain."

As they walked through the country England would make occasional comments like 'it's getting hotter' or 'how much further?' But in general it was a quiet walk.

"Here we are..." France took a deep breath, "I haven't been on his territory in a while... We used to meet on mine..." the French boy looked almost scared as he spoke, as if some sudden instinct had hit him, that he should have known all along.

"England..." France brushed England behind him, "I'd like you to wait in the forest back there, don't come out unless I tell you too." This close to the border he could smell the blood of the people, Spain's mind was clouded and black.

"But..." England was about to protest, but taking one look at France's face he nodded, turning and running back to the forest they'd passed a few moments ago.

Leaving France alone and waiting with one foot over the border, he knew Spain was coming, but what to expect...

Someone was pulling themselves over the hill top.

For a moment France didn't recognise them. The two had grown older since they last saw each other, but the figure staring at him from a little way off had changed in more than just age.

Spain looked too thin, his eyes shallow and dark, the smile that had once had an almost permanent appearance on his face looked like it had never been there; in his hand was a scythe- stained red, held by hands bloody by their own deeds.

"Spain..." France's voice was a whisper as he laid eyes on his childhood friend, "what's happened to you?"

"It's them!" Spain's voice was a hoarse whisper, his eyes wide with mistrust and panic, "they did this, they're trying to kill me, I know they are!" His voice kept wavering between shouting and mutters.

"Who?" The blond boy was struggling to follow what was being said. Spain kept looking over his shoulder.

"My people!" Spain threw back his head as though it were obvious, "they're trying to pull me in two!"

The French boy's heart gave a judder, he wished he could reassure his friend, but he couldn't, how could anyone know what would happen now. When he looked closer he could only see one face over Spain's. Rome... In the years leading up to his death- desperate and mad.

"I won't die!" Spain suddenly let out a sob, "I won't!" He screamed, falling forwards. France rushed forwards to catch him, just getting there in time.

"No" he agreed, "you won't die," and he truly felt in his heart that was true. An idea hit him, it was risky but hopefully would work. "I've got someone I want you to meet..."

He turned over his shoulder, calling into the distance, "L'Angleterre!"

For a moment he couldn't see the little nation, then he spotted him, making his way slowly towards them.

"Who's that?" Spain sounded curious, the madness gone from his voice within the minuet. Suddenly Spain looked like his old self again; shoulders relaxed, eyes bright, and the unforgettable smile on his face.

"This is England" France introduced, "the boy I've told you about," he gave Spain a steady look, hoping the older nation wouldn't give away anything bad France may have said about the muddy country in the past.

"Hello" England muttered, looking at the floor nervously.

"Very cute!" Spain suddenly let out an exclamation of pure joy, swinging England off his feet before he could protest.

"Did I miss something?" A voice sounded to their left, Prussia was sticking his head above a hill top, looking down at them carefully.

"Come and meet him!" Spain called up, placing two kisses either side of England's face, "isn't he just the cutest thing you've ever seen!"

"I'm not cute!" England finally seemed to find his voice, glaring furiously at the Spaniard, "put me down!"

Prussia's ears pricked as he approached, patting England's head, while he spoke to France.

"I see this little thing has been the making of you" he grinned, "we're the same age now," he paused looking at Spain who now looked so much older than them, "you on the other hand..."

"I want one!" Spain ignored Prussia's comment, "where do you find them?"

"Worth invading?" Prussia asked, eyeing England with interest, backing off a little as he felt France's glare bite into him like a knife,

"not worth invading if you want to keep hold of that scrap of land you've made your own" France warned, taking England away from Spain.

He suddenly felt a threat looming into sight; as far as he saw this little nation was under him until he knew how to take care of himself and he would not allow anyone to touch him until then.

"I ask everyone that question" Prussia laughed, reassuring the small boy who was doing his best to appear threatening in Prussia's direction. "Besides in the words of someone I can't recall..." Prussia gave France an evil look, "who'd want a squalid little mud hole like that?"

France felt England growl in his arms, fighting to be free, tearing his arms at the smirking Prussian.

"I'd better get you back" France whispered into England's ear, as he shifted him a little further away from Spain and Prussia.

"Okay..." England nodded, trying to stifle his yawn, realising how suddenly sleepy he felt.

Looking back he must have fallen asleep in France's arms at some point on the way.


	20. Chapter 18

**1067 – Belarus fully founded**

"They're going to take me away aren't they?" The eight year old girl looked up at the nation she'd come to view as an older sister.

She could feel people surging across the land, coming for her, "they want to take me back..." Natalia glanced carefully at Ivan who wasn't even looking at her.

She wanted somebody to say something, someone to assure her that she didn't have to go, but Katyusha and Ivan wouldn't speak.

Katyusha hugged her tightly, and Ivan remained at a distance, fixing his gaze on the point in the snow that he always seemed to be staring at.

Why wouldn't he get upset! Didn't he care that horrible men were going to arrive at any minuet and drag her away.

...Why didn't he care?

Natalia felt fresh tears beginning to form in her eyes, she wanted him to cry for her; to reassure her; but he didn't even care.

**1086 – The Doomsday book is written**

**(Before anyone asks, the Doomsday book was a record of what everyone in the country owned and how much it was worth)**

England fingered through the dull looking pages, glancing up at France expectantly. The French nation had presented it to him like it was a gift from the heavens, rather than England's own king- who should have been handing things to him, not France.

"What's it for?" England blinked up at him, it just looked like a load of numbers and lists to him, no story whatsoever.

"It's so you know what everyone's got" France pointed out, as though it were obvious. England still didn't get it,

"why do I need to know what everyone's got?" He blinked again,

France sighed, rolling his blue eyes, "so you can tax it stupide." He sometimes felt like the little nation truly didn't understand a word of importance.

"No wonder you'll never become a big nation" France shook his head pityingly; he realised the moment he'd spoke he'd said the wrong thing.

"What do you mean I won't ever become a big nation!" England demanded, narrowing his green eyes into slits.

He watched the older nation stammer wordlessly for a bit before he finally decided to tell the island nation what he'd been avoiding for so long.

"Islands don't usually grow to full size, your economy won't be bad, but it won't be good, you probably won't be able to invade countries with such a small army, and your too small to be noticed; this means you will stop growing at fifteen, or something like that..."

England's face was slowly beginning to crumple into disappointment, France hadn't realised that England didn't already know this.

"I'm sorry..." France didn't know quite what else to say, he took the large (and really even he had to admit) useless book from England's arms, pulling the small nation towards him for a comforting hug.

When England had stopped sniffing he pulled him back so he was at arms distance, "how about we go and see Spain and Prussia, the Spanish idiot swears he's got a new dance he wants us to see," France smiled as England began to slowly nod.

This was how France wanted England to stay forever- the little boy that depended on him so much.

"I have an idea," France changed direction when they were almost at the channel, his face teaming with mischief.

"What?" England wasn't sure he liked the sound of whatever France was about to suggest,

"Let's get our picture painted" the French boy grinned, dragging England back towards London.

"W-We're not allowed" the boy stammered, "you know the rules, they say nations can't have pictures of each other or themselves," he looked at the older boy in surprise, hadn't he known that after all he'd taught him.

"I know," France rested a finger on England's lips, "but we won't tell, and it'll only be a small one, we won't tell the painter who we are."

Grudgingly England agreed, allowing France to drag him back in the direction of London.

They decided to head into the less known areas, they didn't need a court painter to paint such a small and simple project, also it was less likely they could be recognised out here.

"Can you afford it?" England asked, still trying to find reasons why they couldn't do this.

"Of course," France flashed a money bag at him, lifting the smaller boy off his feet so there was no chance he'd run away.

Finally they found somewhere that looked quiet enough.

France strolled confidently into the building, leaving England to knock (after he'd entered). When the artist arrived France was already trying to position England in the right place in front of the canvas.

"You want you painting done?" He asked, looking surprised- he must be starved of customers.

"Yes" France nodded, showing him the money, before placing it close behind him on the counter, "I'll pay you when I'm satisfied with what you've done" he warned, when the painter made forward.

The man nodded, changing direction to his painting tools.

England tried to stand still while he was being painted, but France was being so distracting; he kept moving around, changing poses.

England supposed it was quite exciting, they probably would never get their picture done ever again, and many nations would never get them done at all.

Making an effort he gave a small smile, hoping the painter would be happy with his effort.

The completed picture was only about tablet size (lets say A5); the artist had painted the two boys standing next to each other on a grassy bank. He'd captured one of France's beaming poses where he was looking straight at the canvas; England was beside him, looking up a little at his friend with a small happy smile on his face.

"It's perfect!" France let out out an exclamation of joy, thrusting the gold at the painter, picking up the canvas carefully so it didn't smudge. He turned to England, showing him; laughing when he had to manoeuvre England's curious fingers away from the painting.

"I'll look after it till your old enough," France laughed and England's pouting face, "you can visit me whenever you want to look at it," the English boy looked a little more cheerful at that.

"Why did you suddenly want a painting anyway?" The younger nation asked while they were walking back to the castle.

He was surprised by France's sudden silence when he spoke; the older nation was looking off into the distance with a sad look on his face.

"I just feel like some thing's going to change soon, and I always wanted us to have something to remember these days by..." He shook his head, "it's just me being overcautious, I'll race you!" He took off even before he'd finished talking.

He heard England give a grunt of annoyance before he took off after him, panting with the effort to keep up on his short legs.

France stopped after a few meters, swinging England onto his shoulders, "there now you can fly like the fairies!"

**1096 – The Crusades in Turkey**

He shook his head again, France could hardly believe he and Spain were standing alongside Prussia and his brother getting ready for battle.

Reclaiming the holy land, that was what their bosses had told them... That included passing through Turkey to capture the nations that lay beyond...

It was a long way to fight, but France had faith in his people, he was sure they could do it.

"How much further do you reckon?" Spain glanced at Prussia, who looked coolly back- while his brother was around it almost seemed like Prussia didn't recognise them; they'd never seen Prussia in battle before this, and were incredibly happy all of a sudden that he'd never challenged them.

Prussia had once told them "I was born for war," they thought he'd been joking when he'd first said that, but now they weren't so sure.

France's heart gave a small yearn, he would much rather be home in the fields, or playing with England than trudging across this god forsaken part of the world.

"We're almost there" Roma replied, finishing the sharpening of his sword, "we just need to go through Greece, then were at our first stop."

Now France thought about it he could feel the border coming up ahead, he hoped it would be a quick war; ever since Holy Roman Empire had arrived everything seemed to about war in Europe- England was lucky to be isolated from most of it.

"What are you doing?" The nations stopped trudging, looking up at the sight of a small boy, who couldn't have been older than twelve, and that was only if you stretched it. He was standing on an invisible line on the ground that no human would be able to sense.

"A nation?" Spain tilted his head at the small boy, "is this one of the ones we're meant to attack?" France didn't miss a short flash of faint excitment in Spain's tone; he shivered as he remembered the sight of his friend when he thought his country had turned against him.

"Who are you?" Roma called back, making a small motion for Prussia to draw his sword. The small nation stared on, hardly batting an eyelid,

"I am Greece" the boy replied, voice strong and steady for one who looked so young, "now you tell me, what are you doing here?"

"We're searching for a country called Turkey?" France spoke before either of the others, as far as he could see he was the only one with his mind still intact at present.

For a moment something flickered across the boys eyes, and he stood silent and still, eyes skimming over the newcomers.

"The country lies just beyond my north border, just stick to the edge..." Greece didn't move for a few seconds, before turning and dashing quickly away from the physically older nations (Apart from Holy Roman Empire).

"Are you okay?" France sped up to fall into pace with Spain; the eldest nation had been fine until they'd crossed the Italian border, that was when his personality had become more varied again.

"I'm fine" Spain replied, pulling a smile, looking almost back to normal again; but then his eyes focused out again- blind to everything except a wild memory that seemed to be flicking before his veiled green eyes.

The journey seemed especially long because of the company France suddenly found he had with him. Bloodthirsty war nations, with unstable minds that could snap at any moment.

Prussia had even cut one of his men down for tripping up at the last camp. What France had seen in his old friends had gone.

"You'll understand one day..." France turned to see Spain speaking in a more level voice, though it sounded distant, "one day you'll be dragged into a long war too, then you'll understand us..." Spain was gone again, leaving France feeling more alone than ever.

He tried to distract himself by imagining what the nation of Turkey might look like. All he knew was that Turkey was one of the oldest nations around, but then again so was Greece, and he was about France's age.

Maybe he'll be small and easy to beat, France hoped to himself, or maybe Roma will decide the holy lands aren't worth capturing.

A strange surge shot through him, they must have crossed the border into unknown land.

Rage filled France's young mind, he could feel the anger of the Turkish nation when their armies crossed the border.

"It's coming..." Roma sniffed the air.

No sooner had he spoken there was a cry from the back of the line where Prussia's men were positioned.

Something flashed past them, though France could feel its heavy glare on them as it passed.

"You want something?" Craning his neck to look round Spain, France saw one of the oldest nations he'd ever seen (except for Rome and Germania). The nation had to be at least eighteen, with a tall thin tanned body, deep brown eyes almost hidden by a pure white mask were narrowed in mistrust and disgust.

He held out a blooded sword with a curved blade, France guessed it must have been what had caused the yell from the back of the group. "Because I warn you against fighting war with me..."

Hope spread through France's heart, maybe this would be enough to send them home, even Holy Roman Empire, Spain, and Prussia had to have been hit by that message.

...Apparently not.

"Would you like time to prepare?" Roma asked, his tone hadn't changed.

Turkey shook his head, a slow smile creeping over his face, "no, I'll start now," with that he lunged forward, pulling another sword from his belt, cutting through the nation's men.

**1100 – Polish states split between King Boleslaw's sons**

The seven year old looked up at his guardian, staring with large eyes, "I didn't know kings could do that?"

Poland patted the smaller nation's head, "well apparently _he _can, and has!" Poland's tone was bitter, unlike his usual carefree voice, Lithuania could see quite clearly that he did not agree with the decision to split his country between different rulers.

"Can you stop it?" Lithuania asked carefully, unsure whether Poland would get offended or not by his question.

Poland just shook his head sadly, "a nation can not act without a ruler, but a ruler can act without his nation..."

"But that's not fair..." The brown haired boy looked sadly at the ground, "it shouldn't be able to happen..."

The older boy gave a small smile, hugging his charge tightly, "I know" he whispered, "things will get better though Liet, that's what a nation has to keep hoping."


	21. Chapter 19

**1135 – England's first civil war**

France shouldn't have been away for so long, England felt his pulse increasing in fear. First his older friend had gone away to war, but when he had returned he didn't visit England once, not even to check on him.

The country had fallen into anarchy. The last king had died with only a daughter as heir, and although she had her own son who should succeed, another had stepped in, claiming he had a better right.

The country was torn between their belief in Matilda or King Stephen, and they would kill each other over it.

Again France had made problems worse, without even setting foot within England's sight for many years. He had sheltered Matilda and her family, meaning no one was even really about to be defeated.

It seemed like the fighting would continue to burn on and on till it had swallowed him.

"Hey!" He felt someone seize him round the scruff of the neck, hoisting him off the ground. Since France's departure England had stopped wearing the clothes the other boy had given him; instead returning back to an outfit similar to the one he'd warn as a child- though the cape was more like a coat now.

"Who do you support in their claim to the throne!" The man demanded. Now England had a better look at him, he could see it was only a farmer rather than a soldier or lord.

"I support no one" the little nation replied honestly, glancing at the man steadily. There was a short pause while the man studied him.

Then England realised, the man hadn't known who he was.

"Your that little brat!" The man hissed, "the one who's _meant _to take care of us, if you take a side I'm sure it will win," he pulled a knife from his pocket, pressing it to England's throat, "who do you support?"

Struggling, England tried to kick out at the man who held him, feeling tear drops out blood easing out of his throat, running down his neck.

"It is not my place to decide" he tried to explain, bending away from the knife, with fearful eyes.

"Of course it is!" A woman slid out behind her husband like a snake, the couple looked sick in both health and mind, as did the whole village that now seemed to be approaching from all over; peering out from under rocks, and behind trees- starved to almost the point of death.

"Why won't you tell us?" A hoarse child asked, "stop it please,"

"I want to" England cried, flailing more wildly than ever, "but I can't, my place is to stand beside whoever rules, whether I think it right or not."

"Then you have condemned your people to death!" An outcry went up from the crowd. He was dropped to the ground, where many others immediately set on him, raking their bitten nails over his skin, tearing at his body with anything they could lay their hands on.

England's screams were ignored by all those that could hear him. Then the rabble weakened for a second, just a second enough for the terrified boy to flee back into his woods, away from the frightened, hungry people that now plagued the land.

Even the fairies were now too frightened to speak to him. Although they were not effected by the war, it made them cry to hear the suffering- though they did not blame the nation for the problems, they all vanished away from where anyone could find them.

Once he felt he was at a safe distance his knees gave way. The tiny nation fell to the ground, trembling in the puddle of blood that grew steadily bigger beneath him.

And as he lay he thought, while his blood pumped steadily out of him. He was alone, trapped in a dark country where nobody wanted him.

The nations across the sea had forgotten him, the ones who had once played with him, and laughed at his childish comments had gone to fight in a war, then never returned to him.

**1154 – Henry Plantagenet (son of Matilda) wins the civil war and is crowned king**

Eyes watched on as the crown was placed firmly on the head of the man who should have been king at birth. It marked the end of the bloodshed. The country would be settled again.

England was welcomed back inside the palace walls, where he had played and laughed when he was younger.

He looked like he was approaching a steady ten years of age by now, but like so many of the other nations of the time his heart had closed itself in suspicion and fear.

"Your friend was asking after you..." Henry spoke as the nation moved past him, as if in a trance, "he wanted to know how you were..." The new king trailed off as the boy fixed a dark gaze on him,

"you will make this country great" England breathed, "but do not expect me to know my _friend_ any more," he turned away, continuing his walk down the palace corridors. Feeling resentful once more; his country was safe, but it did not change the way he felt about those across the sea.

**1204 – Greece divided on the fourth Crusade**

The nation that stood to his left did not turn as the nation only a little older than himself was dragged before them.

Against France's better judgement they had gone again to reclaim the holy land, but with a new face along side them.

Spain, Prussia, and France almost seemed equal now at fifteen year old heights, only one other stood close to Holy Roman Empire's height.

England stood with them, eyes fixed on Greece as the Mediterranean nation was pulled to a stop before him.

When the child nation had first arrived on the third crusade France hadn't recognised him, and wouldn't have done if it hadn't been for the same burning intensity of those green eyes. Spinning with as much power as the older nations around him- surely too much for such a small body to take.

What has happened to you...? The image frightened France. It was like the graceful child had gone from sight forever.

Roma made forward to speak to Greece, but England was already before him, sword thrusted deep into the Greek boy's leg, pinning him to the ground.

"Your land is too vast to cross every time we want access to Turkey, and we feel your resentment slowing us down..." The small blond nation flicked his tongue across his teeth, "we propose divides through your country to steady the crossing."

Despite the pain Greece obviously felt from his leg he managed to glare back, spitting out at the younger nation.

"What a shame..." England's voice was soft, spiked with childish pleasure, "...it doesn't matter" he gave a light laugh, leaning closer, "I'll do it anyway."

Even Roma watched on in apprehension, paused where he'd been meaning to speak to Greece himself.

Holding Greece's face level, England pulled his sword from the other boy's leg, lifting it to mark a sharp line across Greece's face, like painting on a canvas. He continued to cut until the boy's face was an alignment of strange patterns, streaked in blood.

"They will disappear when we are finished here" the English nation pushed him away, finished with the work.

France watched him walk away, knowing Prussia and Spain were doing the same.

"I can't do this!" France suddenly let out a splutter, "I can't, not any more!" He fell to his knees, "I don't care about what we want or any of it!"

A sword clattered beside him to the floor. Spain was speaking with difficulty, but still phrasing the words, "I'm finished too."

They didn't bother to look at Prussia, they knew that he couldn't refuse his brother, he would stay, and fight on, until finally the Holy Roman Empire saw sense; and Spain and France didn't have long enough to wait for that. They were crippled by debt, and inside their country people stirred in revolt.

As they walked away France felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, they were free again; but how long would it last?

"Spain?" France turned to his friend, who's figure seemed once again like his friend, "do you think we're all destined to go mad?"

Out of the corner of his eyes Spain tilted his head, laughing, "why think such a depressing thought?"

"I just wondered..." France admitted, not wanting to remind Spain of his own loose mind. Spain never seemed to remember any of his bloody deeds when he was normal. It was like their was something deeply buried in Spain's heart, crying to be heard, scared of being seen.

"I'll race you back!" Spain suddenly gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, sprinting on ahead, France noticed he skittered round the Italian border, maybe his friend's memory wasn't as forgetful as he thought it was.

"That was a head start!" France yelled after him, running the same way Spain had gone, feeling joy running through him again. They were free.

~/~

"You can't go!" Poland's voice had once sounded so dominant to him, but now they almost looked the same age Lithuania felt he could speak more equally to his friend.

"I have to," he pulled the other boy into a hug, "I will visit, and you will visit me?" he pulled them apart just to make sure Poland gave him a serious answer.

"Of course I'll visit!" Poland insisted, "But I want you around me all the time!"

Lithuania laughed, Poland was beginning to sound a little like a spoiled child, "I have my own country to run now. You took brilliant care of me, but I need to do something on my own now."

"No you don't!" The other still snapped, clinging tighter to Lithuania's waist, "you _need _to stay here!"

"I'll see you later," Lithuania prised Poland off him, turning to run over the border before the tearful nation could stop him.

**1236 – Lithuania fends off Holy Roman Empire Crusaders**

They said he was undefeatable, this boy from the west. He was a story told to frighten all the children in the eastern countries.

Childlike but cruel hearted, he'd already torn down so many nations, rumoured to have starved smaller nations to death.

Poland had arrived with a frantic message that morning, "The flaming Holy Roman Empire is coming this way!" He almost seized Lithuania when the younger nation just laughed in his face, "take this serious you idiot!" Poland snapped.

"Have a little more faith in me," Lithuania got to his feet, sweeping the king towards him, whispering in a low voice into his ear. "Your not in danger are you?" Now Lithuania spoke with concern, eyeing Poland gently, relieved when his childhood friend shook his head,

"It's just you they're coming for..."

"Then I'll be ready" Lithuania interrupted him, the confident look back in his eyes, "I'll be known as the nation that beat them!"

"You're being too reckless" Poland warned, "you need to think this out..."

The younger nation sighed, trying to make his friend understand, "Why was I given to your country in the first place to be raised?"

It sounded like a silly question to be asking at a time like this, but Poland replied nonetheless,

"because the king feared for your safety amongst your people..."

"Exactly" Lithuania nodded, "If their own nation was in danger from them, think what they could do to another," he was excited again. "But I really should prepare, I'll come and see you later."

Before he knew what was happening Poland had been turned from the door.

What was Lithuania doing! This was so stupid even he himself wouldn't do it!


	22. Ages 2

Greece – 12

Turkey – 18

France – 15

Spain – 16

Italy – 9

Romano – 9

Austria – 15

Japan – 16

England – 10

Ukraine – 15

Belarus – 10

Russia – 12

Denmark – 14

Norway – 13

Prussia – 15

HRE – 9

Hungary – 15

Poland – 13

Lithuania – 12


	23. Chapter 20

**1237 – Mongals invade and devastate Russia**

The small boy stood still, letting the cold snow lash against his exposed skin, inhaling deeply; savering the bitter wind like a fresh breeze.

The men had come from the mountains they said, and Russia had felt them. The blood was beautiful dotted around on the snow, a pattern perhaps...

They slaughtered everywhere they came to, seizing Russia from his bed in the palace, dragging him out onto the snow, in the subzero night, dressed in nothing but a thin nightgown.

They drove their swords into him again and again, before leaving him alone and shivering, watching his own blood seep out around him.

The people who had come from the mountains did not believe in nations, they banished him from the palace, and tore at his body. Continuing their rampage over his vast land.

Russia had left Ukraine's home not soon after Belarus had been taken away. He stayed with her until the point she was called to her own countries ruler; then he had gone to find his own.

Suddenly the stationary boy turned, rushing away over the hills, hand extended like he was being led away by an invisible force headed up by the wind.

**1241 – Hungary invaded by Mongolian Tartars**

The word had spread through adjacent countries like wild fire, it did not take long to reach the ears of Prussia. He actually heard it from Poland- an irritating nation who lived nearby.

Prussia knew his brother still blamed Poland as the reason they did not get Lithuania; it wasn't until afterwards they discovered Lithuania had been warned ahead by his friend.

But at this moment Prussia didn't have time to bother with the Polish nation, he only had one thought- to get through to Hungary as fast as possible.

Did these Mongolians have a nation that could hurt her!

A sickening thought entered his mind, what if they were like his brother, would they kill her!

Driven by panic he picked up his pace, running harder to reach the border. Maybe he could offer her help, but what if she didn't want it.

She still didn't understand she wasn't a boy yet, what if she did something reckless and hurt herself...

Every time they met it just confirmed more and more what Austria had told him so many hundreds of years ago; and yet Hungary went on oblivious, despite her growing chest and...

Prussia felt his face flush; she was probably having periods around now! Did female nations have periods? Didn't she at least find that odd, or did she just pass it off as something all 'guys' did!

"Hungary!" He yelled the moment he crossed the border, hoping she could find her way to him, that she wouldn't be too injured to even do that.

"Huh?" Thankfully he spotted her creeping suspiciously towards him from the forest, she held her sword skilfully near her waist as she moved towards him.

Before Prussia could speak she had leapt on him, pinning him to the ground, straddling his middle with her thighs either side of him.

Oh Gott! Prussia froze, burning with embarrassment, this was the worst part about her not being able to understand what changes her body was going through, the fact she didn't understand what _he _was going through!

"Did you send them here!" Hungary demanded, positioning her sword level with his throat ready to strike; her eyes were wide with fury and betrayal. "Or your brother! Is this anything to do with either of you!"

Prussia succeeded in finding his voice amongst the fighting effort to keep his blood levels away from his lower half.

"Of course not!" He snapped, "As far as Roma knows this land is no better than a pit in the ground, why would I tell him that, then attack you myself!"

To his relief Hungary nodded approvingly, sheathing her sword; but she didn't move her body position.

"What are you doing here then?" She asked, voice curious now, fingers running along Prussia's complex uniform.

"I-I heard you were in trouble" he stammered. Shouldn't he push her off him, she shouldn't be doing this, and it would make God mad.

...But he just couldn't move, feeling a strong exhilaration as she shifted her weight on him.

"I'm fine" Hungary assured him, "nothing I can't handle," she prodded his ribs cheekily, "what do you think I am, a girl?" She spluttered with laughter. Prussia pitied her hopelessness in this matter, sighing more openly than he meant to.

"You know Hungary..." He sat up, so she was now straddling his lap, "...They're are female nations, we know that now; your neighbour Ukraine, and Poland's neighbour Belarus, and who knows how many others..."

He hoped she understood that without him having to go into more detail.

"I know there are" she shook her head, "but guys like me and you are more common."

Frustration hit the white haired nation like a storm, what did he have to do to explain it to her!

"What makes a nation a girl?..." He felt his stomach churn as he spoke,

"You know that" Hungary grinned, "I don't need to tell you,"

"No, tell me," his heart began pounding, there was no going back now.

"Well they're... More girly" she spoke quickly, looking away from him the moment she spoke. That was when it hit him, Hungary already knew, she just seemed to think he didn't know.

"And?" Prussia pressed, feeling one of his hands trace her shoulder, sweeping a lock of brown hair from her ear.

"And... they look different..." She flinched as she realised how close her and her friend were suddenly, "they h-have c-chests and n-no p-penis" her voice wavered, suppressing a sigh of pleasure when Prussia's face nudged against her cheek.

His hands were resting gently on her shoulder, she knew she could escape if she wanted, she was also pretty sure Prussia would let her...

His breath was hot on her face as he moved from her cheek so that they were perfectly parallel. They met slowly in the middle, mouths just touching, unable to do anything else.

Then he kissed her, opening his jaw a little so both their mouths opened slightly.

She had never felt so helpless. Had it been so obvious she was a girl, when had he found out? She had only learned of it herself recently.

Then her mind cleared, firmly placing her hands on Prussia's chest, she pushed him back as hard as she could. That was it! He only hung around with her because he wanted this! Why would _he _want to hang around with a girl!

"I hate you!" She screamed, trying not to notice the hurt look on his face, "I hate you!" She repeated, spinning on her heel, running back the way she'd come.

It was easier to understand this way, he couldn't love her, nations didn't love, especially ones like him!

**1288 – Ottoman Empire starts**

Turkey stood on the boundary between their two countries. He had not laid eyes upon his old friend since they had separated the day he had invaded. "Wonder if he's grown any more?" He chuckled to himself, ignoring the heated blaze from the sun that shone directly into his eyes.

"I wonder whether you'll come running if I take a step forward..." He lifted his foot slowly.

After all this time of staying away Turkey had suddenly found a need more than ever to see his friend.

His leader was making decisions that he wasn't sure he was ready for; he wanted to ask someone else.

...Even if that other person hated him.

But did Greece want to see him? The answer was probably no, but if people could forgive and forget, surely a nation could too.

His foot landed gently over the line, slowly followed by the rest of his body, until he was out of his own territory completely.

There he waited, struggling to remember what it was like to feel another nation coming to you on their own land.

He could feel a tremor in his heart; was that him or Greece?

He couldn't tell what part of him were his imaginations and what was actually happening. Every flicker made him flinch, sometimes almost jumping back over the border.

Then he heard the certain footsteps, someone definitely was coming this way, keeping their distance, just out of sight.

They were clearly waiting for him to speak.

"I want to talk to you" Turkey swallowed as he spoke, glancing around for any sign of the nation, but silence answered him.

"My leader wants to turn me into the Ottoman Empire, but I'm not sure it's right..." He waited again for an answer,

"Hercules I want to see you!" A rush went through the old nation, full of sorrow and regret that he had hidden since the day he had driven his sword through Greece's shoulder.

"Don't call me that," a reply at last came to him, but the voice was angry, a low growl in their throat, "I told you that the last time we met, I never want to hear those words from you again."

Turkey closed his mouth.

Since they had been children the name of a nation had become something so intimate that most nations had grown to the point where they were the only ones to know their own name.

"Can I see you?" The nation stared around him; anywhere could be hiding him- there were many rocks, bushes and trees around him, he hadn't chosen the best of places.

But silence had fallen again.

Shaking his own head slowly, Turkey turned, "bye Greece" he murmured before heading back across his own borders into the depths of his country.

Hidden in the in the clump of trees, not ten meters away, the Greek boy slowly peered round to check the surrounding area was clear.

The Ottoman Empire? Even the name sent shivers down Greece's spine, should he have said something? Would Turkey have listened to his opinion anyway?

No, of course he wouldn't have listened, they had been friends, but that was a long time ago.

**1291 – Switzerland formed**

The land taken by the Holy Roman Empire had grown to a vast amount of land, bordering Poland, France, Italy, and Hungary. Any of the smaller nations that had once lived there had simply vanished when they were taken over.

"Nations just die sometimes" Roma told the only two living nations within his territory, "nations that are not strong enough to survive," his words were bitter and cold. Prussia stayed unaffected, as he always was by anything his brother said.

Austria had taken note that Prussia even colder than before, now hardly even his loud and annoying friends in the west could make him smile.

That wasn't the only strange thing that had happened in the last hundred years. Hungary the _female _nation who shared a border with him, had started wearing female uniform, and standing clear of the fighting more. Austria guessed she'd finally caught on.

But even weirder than that, she had started hanging around on _his _border almost all the time, looking wistfully out at his country. Was she planning on invading too?

She always ran away when ever he came over to ask.

Roma had dismissed them while he discussed secret matters with his government. Austria supposed that was the only reasonable part of being absorbed- you didn't have to attend those dull meetings any more.

He should probably go home and work on the piece he was composing, then maybe he could have a relaxing evening watching a concert or something.

Austria knew his nation was proud of him, he only looked fifteen but was a successful musician, painter and conversationalist. As far as they could see you couldn't have a better nation.

"Hey!" Austria stopped, he'd been walking the long way towards his border, looping round The Holy Roman Empire's lower territory.

So he felt he had a right to be surprised when a tiny child ran out of nowhere and began thumping on his legs.

"This is my land!" The child was exclaiming, changing tactics and kicking the older boy instead.

Austria was about to shoo the irritating child away when suddenly he realised the full force of what the seven year old boy was crying.

This was a small nation on Holy Roman Empire territory, the moment the tiny empire crazed nation heard about him he'd probably come down here personally to deal with him.

Prussia had always told terrifying stories of how his brother had starved nations to the point where they'd almost shrivel up and die.

"It's not safe for you here," despite the child's angry protests Austria swept him into his arms, looking around just in case anyone was watching him.

"What's wrong?" Now the child just sounded confused, "Who are you?"

"I'm like you" Austria replied, "and you need to understand when I tell you that it isn't safe here at the moment..."

"...My land is in danger!" The blond boy was suddenly alert, eyes glinting for any sight of an intruder.

"Not as such, your land belongs to someone else, like mine does. But he'll kill you unless your big enough," then it hit Austria, what he'd just committed to do, "I'll just take care of you until your big enough."

"Okay" the boy nodded in agreement, "my name is Switzerland."

_Note from author- I know Austria and Switzerland were children at the same time but I forgot when I started, so is this okay?_


	24. Chapter 21

**1314 – The battle of Bannockburn between Scotland and England- Scotland win**

It was humiliating, his brother had beaten him again.

The over all relationship between England and his three brothers wasn't a good one, especially between him and Scotland.

"I told you you wouldn't win" Scotland laughed, kicking his younger brother in the mud just to rub it in, "why don't you go pick on Wales or something," he turned away; seriously what was this little brat trying to prove?

"Don't walk away!" England yelled, struggling back to his feet panting with exhaustion, but his expression was still determined.

Ever since that stupid civil war they'd made such a fuss about down in England, his little brother seemed worse than ever- he was constantly picking fights with all his brothers.

Scotland sighed, facing his brother again. It was pityingly painful having to push his brother down again and again; when would he learn?

"What is wrong with you!" Ireland suddenly exploded from the bracken glaring furiously at England, "I hear all this racket going on, arrive and find you're at it _again_!" He stressed the last word, England had been fighting him not too long ago.

"Oh dear..." Wales appeared behind them, probably having walked up from his own country to see what was going on. He looked like he regretted it when he spotted Scotland and England glaring at each other.

Scotland and Ireland were the oldest brothers, then England, then Wales; and the others never forgot to remind their youngest brother that he was the youngest.

"Piss off both of you!" England snapped, looking ready to take on all three at once. His eyes had darkened, narrowing to slits.

This was the look that before the civil war his brothers had never seen on him. Sure he'd always been a bad tempered child, and stubborn but in a very childish manner. His attitude now seemed a lot darker.

"He's just trying to be a big nation again" Ireland smirked, crossing his arms in satisfaction when England's eyes flickered.

"I will be a big nation one day!" England retorted, fixing his glare on his other older brother.

"None of us will!" Ireland strolled forwards, "We all cope with it, why can't you!"

Scotland couldn't help but agree. It was hard on all of them to have been born in such small countries with a promise that they'd never grow. It was tough when England kept reminding them of it.

"Shut up!" England lunged at Ireland. The eldest brother dodged, letting England crash to the ground without raising a finger.

"You want to be like that boy you met once," Ireland bent low to whisper in England's ear, "but he doesn't care about you any more than we do..."

"FUCK OFF!" England closed his hands round Ireland's throat, eyes alive with hatred. His grip didn't change as Ireland began to frantically grapple at England's hand on his throat, trying to slacken the grip.

"Stop it!" Between them Scotland and Wales managed to pull England away from him- Scotland pinning the furious little nation to the ground.

Ireland spluttered, coughing fit to burst; his throat glowed bright red where England's hands had been, little flecks of blood where nails had dug into his skin.

"I think we should just send him home" Wales spoke quietly, he didn't like England any better than them but he didn't want them to start purposefully winding their brother up, particularly while he was like this.

Ireland gave a grunt but Scotland let go of the little nation he had held to the ground.

"Get lost" he growled, positioning England in the direction of their border.

When he was out of sight the other three brothers exchanged glances.

"Surely he knows we won't become full nations?" Wales whispered, feeling sorry for his first oldest brother,

"he knows it allright" Ireland spat, "he just won't admit to it; he's even worse now!"

"He looks mad..." Wales trailed off as soon as he opened his mouth, he had voiced what they'd all been thinking.

"Do nations go mad?" Ireland's voice was softer now as he thought.

**1320 – Poland reunified**

The country had finally settled down again. It felt to Poland as though he had been in pieces before, now he was whole again.

It was more important than ever to feel whole, with the Mongals creeping through the east, and Holy Roman Empire approaching from the other side.

"It's good you're together again" Lithuania joked. He had come round to congratulate Poland on the news.

Lithuania looked the same as ever but Poland couldn't forget the fact that the nation he had once carried in his arms had defended his country against the most powerful empire in Europe.

Of course Poland had not let this effect their relationship; he made sure Lithuania still knew that whatever he may do on the battlefield, Poland was still in charge.

"Want to play chess Liet?" Poland threw the chess set in his friend's direction.

Lithuania sighed, putting the game back down, "but you always cheat."

That was annoying; ever since they had reached the same age Lithuania had started questioning his orders!

"It's not cheating!" Poland snapped, "if I apply Poland law I can do whatever I want!" He turned away from Lithuania knowing this was the only thing to do if the other boy couldn't see it his way.

"I-I'm sorry" Lithuania stammered, picking up the chess game again, walking up to Poland timidly, "we can play if you want..."

Poland cheered up immediately, watching Lithuania eagerly as he set out the pieces on the board.

"I saw another nation the other day" he admitted. It was only then that Poland realised something had been bothering Lithuania since he got there.

"What was he like?" Poland tried to sound as curious as possible, so as not to let his worry show- the way Lithuania had said it concerned him.

"H-He was under the Tartar's rule..." Lithuania's eyes were strangely unfocused; like something had terrified to the point of breaking.

"Covered in blood... H-He asked if he could be my friend when he had enough power... I don't know what that meant, but he frightened me a lot..." The Lithuanian was trembling lightly, his green eyes wide.

"Liet," Poland pulled Lithuania's hands from the chess board, grasping them in his own, "I will make a promise right here that I will do everything in my power to protect you if he ever does decide to pursue this 'friendship'"

"Really?" Lithuania looked sceptically at him,

"Really!" Poland insisted, dropping the other nation's hands, "let's get on with the game then."

**1337 – The Hundred year war begins**

The world began to spin, France could hardly believe what his boss was telling him; he didn't want to hear it.

That's what being seventeen years old was about- being able to handle things evenly. That's what he'd been told when he finally reached that age.

"We are at war with England," that was what his boss had said.

All France had wanted was his land back, the land that was French territory that the English kings had acclaimed through birth or marriage.

Whoever it had belonged to it made no difference, it was his territory, how could England argue with that?

He remembered the small nation that had visited him a few decades ago. Blond hair a little like England's but it had a mixture of darker brown in it, his eyes were also blue rather than green.

The boy had introduced himself as Wales, and warned France that his older brother seemed like he was just waiting to provoke a fight.

But he hadn't named anyone, France had just assumed it must have been Ireland or Scotland; but when he remembered the cruel look on England's features that day when he'd stood beside him on the Crusades he realised that he should have known who Wales was talking about.

"Do nations go mad?" Wales had asked him, and France had replied truthfully that he wasn't sure. Obviously there seemed to be a fever about it at the moment, but it wouldn't last; after all Spain's had passed...

"It shouldn't be too hard," France was faintly aware of his king continuing, "after all he is an island nation, it's his kings I don't like..." He suddenly realised his nation wasn't listening.

He rested his hand on France's shoulder, "don't worry I'm sure he won't be too heavily involved."

At first that was what France hoped. He hadn't met England since he had left on that last crusade he'd fought in, and that image was one that stuck in his mind chilling him in his nightmares, so unlike the child he had in the small painting he kept under his bed.

Maybe England was better now though. He'd heard disturbing rumours but that was a while ago, England must be back to normal by now.

~/~

The first battle of the war, felt like the first battle he'd ever seated in. The ferocity in which the French and English fought was unlike anything he'd ever seen before in his life.

Men were falling from their horses into a sea of thriving fighters, even France who had been riding longer than anyone, had to fight to keep his balance.

Was England amongst this mess?

His heart lurched at the thought of the little nation running beneath the soldier's heavy feet. Surely such a small nation would be kept away from this?

"Bastard!" Such fowl language could only come from one person he knew; but he had little time to register he was knocked from his horse, tackled into the sea of fighting men; feeling his soldiers swords graze against him.

He managed to gain his balance again, digging his heels into the ground, using his weight to his advantage against the smaller English soldier.

Eyes wide France fixed his gaze on the boy in front of him; he was about fifteen, messy blond hair that looked like it had never been combed (common sign in England), and cat like green eyes that stirred a disturbing memory in France's mind, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the battle.

"Here to take my land because you don't have enough of your own!" France snapped, managing to throw the other nation off him, "I see you've grown to your full capacity," he noted England's age with a cruel smirk.

A heavy sword hilt was slammed into his head, causing him to explode in pain. England's green eyes had become thin, burning with something France couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't until later he realised he had seen the same look in Spain's eyes when his people had turned on him.

England wasn't fighting for his king, he wanted the land for a completely different reason. He didn't care who was king of what, he just wanted to grow, he wanted to be a nation like any of the others on the main continent.

Such horrible memories seemed to be frantically flicking before the steady green gaze. Had the civil war really been that bad?

But of course how would he know, only Spain, Poland and England had experienced such a head on war. But Poland had managed okay, why was it England and Spain seemed to be so badly effected...

"I'll kill you!" England snapped, aiming his sword at France's chest, almost driving it through the armour. If he wasn't a nation and unable to be killed like that, then France would have believed him.

He deflected England's next attempt, wincing as the full intensity of battle began to hit him. His people were dying everywhere, as he was sure England's were to. But England continued to fight undisturbed by his people's screams.

The childhood friend he'd once had was gone.


	25. Chapter 22

**1360 – Lithuania takes control of Ukraine**

It was wonderful to feel at the top of the world Lithuania decided. He had never expected when he was younger that he'd be in the position he was now.

The nation of Ukraine was eyeing him warily from across the room- she was a lot older than him, she looked eighteen at least, but here he was with power over her.

He knew Poland disapproved of him invading neighbouring countries, especially when they were _his _neighbours in the first place.

"What are you going to do now?" Poland muttered beside him. He had invited himself over when he'd seen Lithuania dragging the Ukrainian nation behind him through his land.

That was the tough part, he didn't know what to do with a nation now he had one, especially such a dull one. She wasn't complaining or fighting back, she just stood there in the great hall before his king looking uncomfortable.

"You've messed this up a bit" Poland pointed out, almost too gleefully.

**1380 – Polish-Lithuanian common wealth formed, Russia defeats the Mongols**

They hadn't done this in many years.

There leaders had merged the two countries into one commonwealth, not that either Lithuania or Poland were complaining; it just felt strange to be together like this after so long.

"We can't sleep in the same bed..." Lithuania stood awkwardly in the doorway; their bosses had allowed them to move out of the now packed palaces to somewhere they could stay together, but they hadn't completely furnished it yet, so for one night there was only one bed.

"It's either that or _you _can sleep on the floor," Poland was already lying on the bed, arms stretched out behind him.

"I-I didn't mean..." Lithuania let out a small grumble before plucking up the courage to cross over to the bed. He moved under the covers next to his friend. Moving around to make sure he had enough room.

"You were so much easier when you were little," Poland suddenly let out a sigh, "It's more difficult now..."

"How?" Lithuania turned onto his side so he and the blond nation were looking at each other; he didn't think he'd grown any more difficult.

"You just used to be so obedient and sweet," Poland gave him a playful smirk, kicking him under the covers. He laughed as the other let out an irritated mutter.

"You can't boss me around now" Lithuania grinned, looking proud of himself, "I'm a powerful nation."

Poland kicked him again, "If you keep saying that I will kick you right out of bed!" He sounded firm, but there was a smile in his voice.

Before they knew it, both boys were scuffling on the bed, trying to pin the other down. Lithuania was taller than Poland and was trying to use his weight to his advantage, but Poland was used to this trick, he swung aside, manoeuvring round his friend before knocking him onto the mattress, pinning his wrists down.

"Not fair!" Lithuania exclaimed, trying to sit back up again, at the same time Poland relaxed.

The two boys collided mouth on. The shock sent Lithuania down again; somehow neither of them quite felt they were able to pull away from the other.

It was Poland who first moved his tongue into Lithuania's mouth. With a pang of guilt the Lithuanian let out a soft moan, unfolding his own tongue to mingle with Poland's.

The kiss began to deepen more by the minuet; their breath becoming hot in their throats as they fought for more, while taking in deep lungfuls of air where they had the chance.

Hands grasped at each other, not letting the other pull away.

Emotion stirred in their minds, burning like fire in their chests.

At last they let the other go, falling along side each other, either side on the bed, gasping for breath. Still stunned by what had just happened.

"Poland..." Lithuania opened his mouth, before feeling the Polish boy's finger rest on his lip, silencing him,

"kocham ciebie" _I love you _Poland whispered, mouth close to his ear, "Ja was umiłowałem tak długo." _I have loved you for so long._

_

* * *

_

Blood flowed before him again, but this time it was not his own. The blooded instrument held tightly in his hands, he'd kill them all, every single one.

A laugh escaped his lips, the situation seemed so funny to him; watching all those who had bullied him flee before his gaze; crying out as he struck them again and again.

"Monster!" He heard someone cry from behind him; something dug into his back, it may have been a sword but Russia didn't think it was worth noting.

"Может быть, вы правы" _Perhaps you're right _Russia let out a small chuckle, pulling the weapon from his back- bathing in the sounds that admitted from the gurgling wound as he pulled the offending item away.

While the man was still in shock he stabbed with all his might through his ribs, dropping the sword with him.

"Maybe we'll be friends one day" Russia smiled, patting the man's head with his foot, "I'll be friends with everyone one day."

Turning away from the burning village, Russia skipped through the snow after his own fighting men.

**1410 – Poland and Lithuania take Belarus**

The two fifteen year old boys exchanged looks as the girl was pulled before them; she didn't look any older then thirteen, but the vicious look she was giving them was enough to ensure anyone treated her as an equal.

"Your armies have been defeated, you must acknowledge your defeat" Poland dismounted his horse so they were standing level. The only reply he got was when the girl spat at him in the face, baring her teeth as though daring him to come any closer.

"It's not a choice" Lithuania put in, dismounting his own horse to join them. Poland gave him a small warning look but stood back to let his friend deal with her.

"Will you acknowledge us?" Lithuania asked quietly, eyes glinting,

"No!" The girl spat again, but Lithuania dodged neatly.

They should have known Belarus would not be an easy task. The silver haired girl was nothing in comparison to her sister who was already part of their empire.

Shoving his heavy boot on her chest he pushed her to the ground, applying pressure, sword pulled into the light.

"I don't want to start threatening" he warned, a smirk in his eyes, "it would be so much easier if you just _acknowledged us,_" on the last words he pressed harder, planting his sword in a resting position on her arm.

Belarus still glared at him.

This time the Lithuanian applied pressure on his sword as well as her chest. The effort applied to the sword was just enough to form small specks of blood where it rested. The girl gave a mutter of pain, but held her place.

Poland turned his head.

He heard Belarus' cries as his friend and commonwealth partner drove the sword through her arm and onwards to the ground.

"Okay!" She screamed.

Poland turned around in time to see Lithuania retreating his sword, looking satisfied.

"I acknowledge you!" Tears were forming in the young girl's eyes. Lithuania turned back to Poland with a shrug of his shoulders, not caring the girl behind him had just collapsed to the ground in uncontentiousness.

**1412 – Joan of Arc is born**

The vicious war had taken its toll on both countries. France was exhausted, he knew England must be too. Neither of the two nations had aged a day since the war began; France settled at seventeen, and England at fifteen.

The battle being fought around him was just as bloody as the ones that had gone and the ones to come.

England's fury upon entering the war hadn't faulted in the full seventy five years of killing.

France hated war, so far he had managed to avoid most wars, and had reluctantly entered the others. He had never understood the bloodthirsty streak most nations seemed to posses; from what he'd seen all it seemed to do was drive you mad- and not just the nations.

Carelessly so it seemed, he swiped his sword round one of the English soldiers in passing. Even with England's older brother Scotland fighting on France's side, the war didn't seem to be recoiling; if anything it had just made England more determined than ever.

What would be the result of this! By the time they were finished there wouldn't be a country left to fight over.

"Doing okay?" Scotland dashed past him into the heat of battle, giving France a small nod as he went.

Sometimes the nations didn't even see each other in battle it was so chaotic. But that was how France preferred it; every time he saw England that same hateful expression would be at rest, his fear, panic, and thirst for hunger all mixed into one.

What had gone wrong to make him like that?

According to Scotland his younger brother had always had a bad temper, and behaved like a spoilt brat, but the others just hadn't taken any notice.

Sighing France, flipped his sword again at the ready, half heartedly preparing to cut down. Then a sudden wave came over him, so strong that he wanted to fall to his knees.

Gasping he looked around wildly to check whether England had stabbed him from behind, but there was no sight of the other nation.

But it wasn't a feeling of pain... He felt strangely hopeful, eyes shining, as though victory were just around the corner. There was hope.

**1429 – Joan d'arc enters her first battle**

"Are you sure this is okay?" Joan looked up nervously at her nation that insisted on staying by her side. She looked nervously around at the grounds where a battle promised, "the men are still talking, I don't know whether they'll follow me..."

France smiled affectionately at her, his eyes shining, "your our gift from God, if anyone denies that I will deal with them myself!" He clutched at her hand to show her he meant what he said.

He had never felt such strong feelings towards a person before he'd met Joan. Every time he saw her his heart rate increased, and he just wanted to throw himself of something tall in case it impressed her.

When France had told her this, she'd laughed, telling him that he didn't need to do that, and what good would it be anyway if they no longer had a nation to lead them.

"What's this...?" England was marching across the field on his own, glaring suspiciously at Joan, "why have you got a girl on the field, get rid of her!"

To Joan this was the first time she'd actually seen the English nation and her own face to face. Something seemed to be burning between them, even in France's unenthusiastic eyes.

"Go away L'Angleterre, we'll be on shortly" France groaned, shooing the younger boy away.

"What is she doing here!" England persisted, fingers twitching in sudden and violent twitches, like he was controlling every part of his body not to pull his sword out and begin fighting now.

"She is our latest general" France told him firmly.

For a moment there was silence. England's jaw dropped open in shock, looking between France and Joan. Then he closed it, a nasty look appearing on his face.

Mad, Joan thought. She had never seen such a horrid expression.

England's green eyes fixed on her, as he let out a hysterical burst of laughter. She froze to the spot; thinking of her own nation who was so kind and gentle- if a little exuberant at times, but in this nation there was nothing like that.

He was a monster she realised, any worries about the battle suddenly left her, she was looking at something that had to be stopped.

Anyone would fight a hundred years for their own freedom, but who would drive his people through a war to conquer and destroy.

"I will give you half an hour to get out of here my _dear _then if my men catch you I can not be held responsible for their actions..." He flicked a snake like tongue over his lips.

"Bâtard!" France leapt from his horse, flattening the other nation to the ground, forcing him down with his weight.

Both pulled their swords at the same time, and men from either side charged towards each other. The battle had begun.

England struggled below France, drawing his sword along the Frenchman's leg to try and get him to pull back.

"Letting a girl do all the fighting for you now!" England laughed, finally managing to slip below France, giving him a neat cut with the sword as he went.

"She was sent by God!" France argued, lashing forward,

"Oh so you need God's help as well?" England let out a sound of amusement, "the French are so weak that even my own brothers as allies, isn't enough, you need heavenly power to take down my armies?"

"Unlike some!" France hissed, catching England's side with his blade, "we want this war to be over quickly!"

"It would be over quickly if you surrendered" England suggested, eyes glinting,

"Piss off!" Was France's most dignified reply.


	26. Chapter 23

**1431 – The burning of Joan d'arc**

Something horrid ran through England's chest as his king spoke.

"Joan of arc is to be burned under accusation of being a witch" the king spoke confidently while his people cheered around him.

"You can't!" England was surprised to hear his own voice, "how does she stand accused!" It was enough that they had her locked in prison, wasn't that enough!

"She dresses as a man" one of the kings advisers snorted, to a gasp from the crowd, "and the other prisoners and wardens say she has been caught conversing with Satin himself!" Another loud cry went up from the audience.

"Of course she dresses like a man!" Why was he continuing? "You've got her locked up with a load of men! They'd attack her if she wore anything else!"

But no one was listening to him any more, they were focusing on what their king was saying next.

Although it may not make sense to him why he was saying what he was, his mind had never felt clearer. He had to stop it.

By the way the king was describing it, it seemed like the event had been planned weeks in advance before the enquiry into Joan had actually happened. Why hadn't he noticed!

There was no way he could get in to see Joan, especially now he'd spoken out for her in front of the king.

Would he have to wait until the day?...

The king was offering him a glass from his throne, it seemed he was trying to make up for dismissing England a moment ago.

Taking it gratefully the nation drank, letting the wine wash around his throat before swallowing.

The people were beginning to leave the hall, probably to prepare what was left for the burning. England suspected quite a crowd would probably gather.

Then he stumbled, eyes widening. The world began to spin around him, knocking him in and out of focus.

"What..." He caught sight of the king's determined face.

What had he drank!

"This needs to happen," the king's voice was slurred in his ears but he could understand well enough. "We need to kill her, it will keep our men fighting if we show them she isn't invincible."

The effort to stay upright over powered him; England fell to the ground, trying to keep his eyes open as his lids began to shut.

"It'll be all over when you wake up," the king patted his head.

Everything faded as unconsciousness passed over him.

~/~

It was dark outside when he finally came round. He could hear people cheering in a crowd below. It took England a moment to remember why there were so many people in the centre of London at this time of night.

Joan!

Hopefully he wasn't too late, but he had to be quick.

Not taking a second to adjust again, England ran from the room, haring down the steps in the castle. He still wasn't sure what was powering him, but he had to stop this.

Luckily there was no one in the halls to stop him, they must all be watching outside.

Pushing through the crowd outside he fought to the front. Flames were already climbing high in the sky, as if they lit the night all the way around England and France.

Could France see her?

He managed to get to the front, in time to see Joan staring tearfully at one point it the crowd. England's heart stiffened as he followed her gaze to where France was staring up at her tearfully from the crowd; shaking his head, going unnoticed by the others all around him.

If France's gaze just shifted a little to the left, he'd see England through the flames; what would he do then.

Even from the back he could see the life failing in Joan's young body. Was she crying...? England wondered.

The whole crowd fell silent, eyeing each other nervously. She was dead. France's gaze shifted, laying eyes on England like he'd known he was there all along.

Hatred, pure hatred burned in his once soft blue eyes, now crisp like ice. But he turned, pushing away past the people, back to the docks most likely.

Knowing it wouldn't hurt him, England burst through the flames, past what he thought to be a lifeless corpse.

"One day you'll burn as well" a small voice whispered, as he ran past, "and in my place beside God I will watch you!"

Unable to stop now England ploughed onwards, knocking people aside in his hurry to catch up with the French nation.

When he arrived at the docks he knew France had already left the border and was heading back towards his own home.

The boats were all abandoned.

Almost throwing himself forward England grabbed one, pushing it out into the channel. He had to explain, tell France how he'd wanted to stop it.

"France!" England almost cried out as he caught up with the other just off the French coast. But France continued to ignore him, moving further into the seaside town ahead.

"Please!" England begged, "I didn't want Joan to die either!"

A sudden force knocked him to the stone ground.

They were inside the French town, too deep in for the fifteen year old to out run the older boy.

He looked up to see France's disgust burning more intently than he'd ever seen before; no sign of regret or sympathy. Finally France's mind had shifted.

"You don't have the right to say her name!" He growled, pressing his foot on the younger boy's ribcage. There was a sickening crack as several of England's ribs broke under the force. "I always thought better of you even when everyone else believed you couldn't be trusted!"

Struggling away painfully, England scrambled to his feet, he had better get going now.

"I defended you in front of your own brothers!" France pushed his strength into a kick that met his leg, knocking him to the ground again, "But I can see it now, that child I once played with is gone!"

Rain began lashing down on the nations' backs, the black sky above flashing with lightning, roaring thunder into their ears with every hit the Frenchman landed on his enemy.

Swinging back his foot France kicked the English nation as hard as he could; feeling nothing but satisfaction as more ribs snapped.

He would make the proud nation that had done everyone so much harm cower and beg for mercy. Nothing like this stupid war would ever happen again!

Faintly he may have been able to hear England screams, but he was too occupied with the musical sound of braking bones, and feeling of England shuddering before him, after all the sneering and aggression he had received for doing nothing at all.

"Please!" The young nation wailed, trying to curl up to defend himself from the restless strength France had suddenly found in his leg.

He did stop, but pulled England to his feet by the front of his shirt, swinging him round and slamming him into the nearest stone wall.

There was another cry from the boy, as blood cascaded down the back of his head, but it was not the end; France hit him against the same blood coated wall over and over, till the blond hair was completely submerged in blood. Punching him once more France dropped him in the gutter that was running through the town's road.

"Get back home and stay there!" France spat at him, before turning and pushing through the crowd that had gathered. He'd had his say.

Groggily England picked himself up. Almost every bone in his body felt broken; his head and neck were warm and sticky with the still free flowing blood.

"Where do you think you're going!" One of the watchers called, seizing the dizzy nation's wrists, throwing him into another.

"He may be finished with you, but we've got something more to add."

~/~

France stared unmoving from his chambre window. He had lost her, he'd loved her. After all they'd said to one another, and done in this very room, she had been snatched away from him before he was ready.

A week had passed since Joan's death.

On the night he had returned to the castle he'd locked himself away and refused to come out- a nation could survive without meals however hungry he felt.

The king and all his advisers had knocked at the door trying to persuade him to come out, but nothing worked.

"Sir..." There was another knock on his door, an uncertain voice called through.

"I'm not leaving!" France snapped, before the man could speak,

"That's not why I'm here. We've found a wounded soldier passed out on the castle grounds, we were wondering what to do with him?"

"Soldiers are injured all the time" France murmured, losing interest quickly,

"He looks really bad, perhaps you should have a look..." The adviser's suggestion was quiet but the nation knew he meant it.

So for the first time since her death France picked his way across the room from the window, opening the door and stepping out.

"Where is he?" He asked emotionlessly following the adviser through the halls to one of the guest rooms near the servant's quarters.

A young looking soldier lay on the bed. His face bandaged all over; what you could see of flesh was torn and ragged, both eyes were closed as though the sight was so bad there was no point in opening them.

When the adviser held back the covers France could see that the arms and body seemed disfigured by breaks and bashings. He looked like he may once of been quite handsome; might have had a future if it wasn't for this stupid war.

"Is he awake?" France turned to the court physician who was leaning over the young man. To his surprise the young man nodded, turning his closed eyes in France's direction.

"Can you talk?" France tried, but the man shook his head slowly, as if the effort was too much for his broken body.

Coming to a quick decision France motioned to the adviser, "I want him moved into the chambre next to mine, where the physician is to tend to him daily; we can see what we can do to help this man recover."

Although the young man made no sound, France could feel gratitude coming off him.

"You're welcome" France smiled before backing from the room.

Over the next year he recovered little, though it seemed his bones were beginning to fix themselves into the right places.

France was away most of the time fighting, he hadn't seen England on the battlefield since Joan's death, hopefully he'd sent some sort of message to the bastard.

But when he was back at the castle, he found that talking to the patient was easier than might have been expected.

"I suppose you don't think much of war do you?" France asked one evening, watching the other's face for a reply. A shake of the head told him what he needed to know.

"I hate it too, if only that stuck up nation would see sense!" He tried to keep his voice level as he spoke, watching the young man nod his head in agreement.

After that the injured man just stayed in the castle; his injuries never seemed to fully heal; his eyes had never opened, and his body was still torn beyond human.

The years passed, and the war dragged on. It had now carried on over a hundred years- a war that had torn away at so much of Europe, if not physically then mentally; all the nations could feel the slaughter even from their distance.

"This may never end..." The reality hit France like a slap in the face, did they really want to be fighting this war all their lives- many generations had fought all their lives...

The man beside him tilted his head, a sign France had learned to interpret as 'go on'.

"I used to be friends with that monster across the channel..." For the first time in twenty years France felt regret returning to him.

"I'll show you something" he whispered to the man, "even if you can't see it, I want to tell somebody else about it."

Hurrying back to his room France pulled something out from under his bed, returning with it to the room next door.

"When we were children this picture was painted of me and England... He was so sweet as a child... That's why I had this picture done, I wanted to always be able to remember him like that..." Trailing off France stared hopefully at the blind man, hoping he'd understand.

To his relief the man was nodding.

"I wanted to burn this thing when Joan first died...I... I wanted to kill him..." Out of the corner of his eye the man, who despite his injuries still looked like he was a young man (too scarred for France to be sure) gave a small twist of his head, though he made no motion to speak.

The next morning when France awoke, the man had gone, leaving a small sheet of parchment on the bed with the single word: _Merci _

**1453 – Hundred Year war ends, Greece taken over by the Ottoman Empire**

It was only a few years after the scarred man had disappeared that England issued its surrender, marking the end of the spine chilling war.

People in the court reckoned over two million had died in total, but hopefully nothing like that would ever effect them again.

Apparently in the last few years of the war England had shut himself in his room and not left for the remaining years. He had known defeat was coming. Rumours had spread from the island that their nation had even abandoned them for part of the war.

Shaking his head France smiled as he watched his king returning with the peace treaty. No nation should abandon his people.


	27. Ages 3

Greece – 12

Turkey – 20

France – 17

Spain – 18

Italy – 9

Romano – 9

Austria – 17

Japan – 18

England – 15

Ukraine – 18

Belarus – 13

Russia – 12

Denmark – 16

Norway – 15

Prussia – 17

HRE – 9

Hungary – 16

Poland – 15

Lithuania – 15

Switzerland – 8


	28. Chapter 24

They were moving into Europe, that's what Greece had heard. A few of the eastern nations were already under attack, some had actually been invaded.

Turkey under his new title 'The Ottoman Empire' had slowly begun annexing the other countries around him.

Would the Turk come after him?

Greece shivered. It wasn't that his country was weak... But they were no longer a militarist nation either. They could not defend themselves if such a large army was to attack.

The people rested on tenterhooks, eyes watching the border between the two countries ferociously, as if that may stop any invasion. Greece admired his people, and would be proud to fight alongside them if a battle was what it came to.

The war that had almost destroyed two nations in the west had reached Greece, he didn't want anything like that to happen with him and Turkey. How many more lives could be spared...

He arose from his thoughts to a knock on his door.

A worried looking adviser stuck his head around the door, opening and closing his mouth uncertainly.

Patiently the twelve year old boy waited for the adviser to collect himself.

"Turkey has been spotted on the border with an army" the man finally managed to pant, pointing over his shoulder in what have been the rough direction to the border.

Greece was alert, rushing past the panicked adviser, pushing his way into the war room where it seemed his ruler had already been warned.

"Are you going to the front?" The busy ruler called over his shoulder at the young nation that had entered the room.

That was what Greece had especially been pondering over the last few years, should he himself fight.

While he had attended battles, ever since Turkey had first invaded his country he'd never fought on the front lines, would his inexperience put his country in danger again...?

He already knew Turkey was a dangerous opponent, they needed strong military leaders to break through his armies.

"I'll go..." Greece nodded, he could always stay at the back away from most of the fighting if he felt he needed to.

Maybe Turkey had grown even more since they last met, why hadn't Greece himself grown, was he to stay a child forever, when Turkey was an adult already!

Years wise they were the same age more or less- born on the night of the same bloody battle over _the face that launched a thousand ships_, the words made him feel nostalgic. Was that really the night they were born.

If the fall of Troy was really when they were born, that meant very few nations had been around before then...

Had his grandmother and Egypt's been around since the birth of human kind, or had people once existed without them?

"Mr Greece!" The voices of the men was insistent, as they pulled him along with them. He had drifted off into his own thoughts again. Sometimes he wished he could be left to do so in peace- not that the bastard sharing his border would ever let him!

It always took longer to reach the border when travelling with his people- but Greece supposed Turkey would have to go slowly as well, so it wasn't like he was gaining more land than them.

It was three days after they'd set off that someone from the front of the line let off a sound of shock. Unable to banish his curiosity Greece pushed to the front, then his own body stopped. Turkey was stood alone in front of them, his arms crossed and an amused look on his face.

"Still a child I see" Turkey shook his head. He had aged again to the apperance of a young man of about twenty.

He saw something dark flicker in Turkey's eyes, as the older nation laced one of his hands along the white mask that was still firmly attached to his face; dark brown eyes narrowed in amusement as he looked down at Greece.

"Are you alone, or do we need to fight you?" Greece kept his tone flat, betraying no sign of familiarity; he held Turkey's gaze firmly.

"I never come al_one,_" he let out a hiss lunging at Greece, both swords pulled sharply from his side. Lunging away Greece felt one nip his ankle.

That was when the rest of the Ottoman soldiers charged down on all sides. Now Greece understood, Turkey had wanted to be sure Greece was in the crowd, and easy to get at.

With a surge of anger Greece pulled his own sword, driving it upwards- missing his target's ribs but drilling a deep enough wound into Turkey's side. Enough for him to escape and rush back through the fighting men, he had to get back- if Turkey didn't have him, they didn't have the country.

With a wail of pain and frustration, he heard Turkey take after him, ignoring the blood gushing from his side.

Greece hadn't managed to get very far when he felt Turkey knock him to the ground.

They were about two miles away from the front line fighting but they could still hear it in the distance.

"Surrender" Turkey smirked, holding both swords by Greece's neck,

"You can't kill me" Greece stuck out his lower lip smugly.

"No" Turkey admitted, licking his lips, "that's the best part..."

He sliced the swords thinly along Greece's neck, creating a ribbon of blood. Smiling as the smaller nation screamed out.

"Do you want to end up like your Grandmother?" Turkey's voice trembled a little in the arrogance, "give in now, and I promise you your name will stay- you won't fade," his voice had dropped to a whisper, and Greece wondered whether this was what Turkey had discussed with his ruler.

"Fade..." Greece didn't want that to happen to him, but was that a reason to surrender, "so he could stay alive while his people suffered,

"They'll suffer anyway" Turkey told him as if he could read his thoughts, "but this is the last chance I can give you, surrender now and I won't let my ruler destroy your name."

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to focus his mind to thought.

What was best, he knew they wouldn't win... But they could rise to fight another day.

"You have my surrender..." Greece muttered, feeling Turkey shift off him, "...only with regards that your promise is kept,"

"It will be" Turkey nodded, with satisfaction.

**1454 – The Polish-Lithuanian common wealth overthrow the Teutonic knights in Europe**

The child watched from the trees, watching the other group of children run past.

"I heard that huge country next to us defeated the Teutonic knights" one of the yelled excitedly, "that's a really powerful country!"

"Actually it's two" a girl corrected him matter-of-factly, laughing at his mistake.

Russia pricked his ears, were they talking about the nation he'd once met on a bridge between their borders?

Perhaps he should ask.

"H-hello" he stammered, approaching the children nervously, "I-I was wondering which country you were t-talking about?"

"Who are you!" One of the children demanded, looking him up and down nervously,

"Can we be friends?" Russia was struck suddenly by the idea, he'd like friends- but wasn't quite sure how to go about doing it.

The other children were looking at him as if he were diseased.

"Why would we want to be friends with a complete stranger!" The first boy to have spoken gave Russia a shove.

The other children laughed, crowding round to shove Russia around between them.

"Why aren't you fighting back?" They laughed, knocking him to the ground, "too weak, is that it?"

Forcing himself back to his feet Russia looked up at them nodding, "but I will be strong one day, then everyone will be my friend."

"No one would ever want to be friends with you!" The girl sniggered, "you're too weird."

Something began bubbling in Russia's chest. Why wouldn't they be friends with him? What had he done wrong?

"No" he shook his head, answering his own questions out loud, the children laughed again- but more uncertainly this time. "It's not me, it's everyone else" he let out his own high laugh, pitched with hysteria, "it's _your fault!_"

His soft voice sharpened, his fingers twitching; violet eyes widening in excitement, "when your all gone, only the right people will be my friends!"

The children began to back off slowly, but Russia caught the first boy round the wrist, his strength over powering him.

"Maybe we'll be friends in the next life" Russia suggested, cutting his hand round the boy's neck, snapping it with one tilt of his wrist.

He turned to the other children who were now running.

"Run, run" Russia chanted like it was a game, "here I come, ready or not."

It was a game.

**1455 - 2****nd**** English civil war; the Wars of the Roses**

The rush of battle was back in his blood, just as he relaxed his own country would start a war up with itself!

Another fight between who held the right to the throne. More of his people dying, snapping at each other like dogs.

No where was safe for him. He had no home to return to, and no one who wanted him for anything more than they thought he would give them an advantage in the war.

"England?" He stopped his run, pausing beneath the trees in the forest of Dean. He was straying close to Wales' border- not that he cared.

He felt one of his fairies landing delicately on his finger. His mythical friends seemed so scarce at the moment; England knew they didn't like wars.

"They're still fighting..." He patted her head absent mindedly, looking up at the tall trees that covered him from sight; hopefully the soldiers wouldn't come here.

"You're sad..." Another fairy appeared, brushing England's hair from his eyes, "you've looked so tired since you came back..."

The fairies saw England flinch as they spoke of the time he had abandoned his people.

"Where did you go?" They asked, more fairies were beginning to flutter about him now, asking the same question over and over again.

"I saw a field" he whispered, closing his eyes the moment the fairies stopped chanting to listen to him. He shook his head slowly as though trying to remember something, "no, it was more like a glade- there were trees all around; I-I was a small child again..."

Even though he couldn't see them England knew there were now hundreds of his special creatures around him, listening to what he had to say.

"There were other children there too..." What seemed like a sudden bolt ran up England's spine, he trembled where he was, mind blanking.

"Then?" A fairy pressed, waiting for England to continue.

But the nation had open his eyes wide, looking unsteadily around him. His head hurt, he couldn't remember what he'd been talking about, he didn't want to remember.

Something was in his head! Pulsing and groaning against his brain, washing blood into his skull.

"Stop it!" England let out a hair raising scream, throwing back his head in burning pain. Was a battle going on!

No, it didn't feel like it.

Black, everything seemed black in his head- hidden from him.

Kicking in his chest. Blood everywhere, his face under the nails of so many hands.

Killing him. He was going to die.

His head burned, blood from a gaping wound scorching his back on its long snail trail down his neck and spine.

"Stop!" He tried again, trying to settle his head, but to no avail.

The fairies had fled, leaving him alone in the darkness that had pulled over his lodged mind.


	29. Chapter 25

**1475 – Ukraine taken under Ottoman rule**

"That is why we don't give nations freedom!" Lithuania banged his fist on the table, not look at his friend. "That Turkish idiot has taken one of our countries!"

"Liet, calm down," Poland rested his hands either side of Lithuania's shoulders. The news had reached them late that night. One of the king's advisers had knocked on their door, alerting them to what had just occurred.

"But what if we're next!" The brown haired boy trembled, wiping his eyes hurriedly. "The Ottoman Empire is just like the Holy Roman Empire in the west- they destroy nations like us, we're still not old enough to stand up to them!"

Poland hushed him again, kissing the side of his face gently, "remember Liet... Toris, we have an Empire too."

The blond nation had felt the worried nation flinch when he'd spoken his name, a small shiver running down his spine.

"But it might not be good enough..." Lithuania shook his head, "and where would we get allies from, Holy Roman Empire hates us for tearing down the Teutonic knights, and the Ottoman Empire is stealing our empire... things just seem to be falling apart..."

Firmly Poland took Lithuania's hand, leading him away from the front hall and to bed.

"We are going to get through this" he insisted, pressing his mouth softly on Lithuania's, "but for now, we need sleep."

**1476 – Japanese civil war starts with the Onin war**

This wasn't right, this wasn't his beautiful land. Why were his people doing this to each other! It didn't make sense to him.

"Stop fighting!" The 'eighteen year old' nation rushed from soldier to soldier, pleading with them in the most dignified way he could muster.

What would he do if they all killed each other- what had happened to all the monks had taught him? Japan was strong, it should be fighting against other countries, not itself!

He felt himself pushed aside by the blades- they hardly left a scratch on him. He couldn't leave though, this was all he knew. His perfect country was falling to the ground.

"Don't fight!" He felt himself beginning to crack under the heat of the battle, "you're destroying everything!" - Now he sounded like a spoilt child.

His own sword was lying limply at his waist, but he didn't want to have to use it.

"You'll ruin everything this country has strived to be!" He screamed at the thick crowd of fighters. None of them paid any attention to him.

"I am your nation!" Japan cried, his thumbs twitching for his sword- what he wanted to do with it he wasn't sure.

It was like someone else was creeping around in his head, whispering commands to his nerves; someone he wanted to listen to.

"Hey!" Japan spun round, two people were staring at the battle from the coast line, their eyes fixed on him. He wasn't sure how far away they were. But he could feel them standing on the edge of _his _border.

Fury ran through him like a knife.

He turned away from the battle and ran in the direction of the coast line, feet hitting the ground hard where they landed.

The sword he pulled from his belt sang out in hunger.

"_Show them, chase them away, this is our land," _Japan could hear whispering in his ear, urging him forwards.

He lunge forwards, blind with the madness that stung round his body; that voice longing him to kill.

"Kiku!" He froze, the sword dropping from his hand.

The two people looking at him seemed familiar, like from a childhood dream...

The girl looked about his age, the boy a little younger. The girl elbowed the boy, giving Japan an apologetic look.

"You call him Japan now" she whispered, blinking her brown eyes at him, "...you don't remember us do you?"

Japan opened his mouth to say he didn't, but the younger boy opened his mouth first. "Of course he remembers us!" He looked indignantly at the girl, "even his memory can't be that bad," the little nation laughed at his own 'joke'.

"Then we begin again," the girl held out her hand firmly, "my name is Taiwan, and this is Korea," she introduced the other boy.

It was only then that Japan realised he was speaking to two other nations.

Grasping Taiwans' hand lightly, he nodded, "my name is Japan where the sun rises."

He saw Korea and Taiwan smile, "he said you'd say that..." Taiwan nodded sadly, "he never forgave you for saying it to him all those years ago either."

Japan was about to ask who they were talking about, then he remembered he wasn't meant to care. Detachment, that was what the monks had taught him, never get to curious; remain reserved.

"We'll just call you Japan" Korea grinned, "do you want to come and see my country?" He took hold of Japan's arm as if to lead him there.

"_No!" _That voice hissed in his ear again, jerking his arm out of Korea's grasp. _"We don't need them, we have a perfect country that needs care!"_

"Leave," it surprised Japan how black his voice sounded, "Leave and don't come back again."

He ignored the hurt looks on the other two nation's faces. He didn't know them, they might remember him, but he certainty didn't remember them. It could be a trap for all he knew.

Taiwan nodded, placing her hand carefully on Korea's back, turning him back towards the shore line.

"Don't worry we'll go and visit Sempai, tell him he can be _proud _of what the nation he sent away has become."

Japan didn't miss the tone in her voice, but he ignored it. He had more important things to deal with than every confused nation that came to visit him.

**1485 – Henry VII wins the battle of Bosworth field against King Richard III- current king of England**

He didn't care, it was as simple as that.

The war had left him torn, and the unearthly pounding in his vision and mind had not left him since the day it had come.

The ability to reflect and look back had left the 'seventeen year old' nation, all that mattered to him now was what was happening right now.

And what happening right now was that what felt to him like a final battle was growing on the hillside ahead of him. The current king and Henry stood on either side.

England knew that technology Henry had no right to be king, especially not more than Richard III, but he no longer was moved by who lead him.

His emotions were lank, and unused; he needed something to stir him again, and something told him that if not Henry, one of his kin definitely would.

He needed to feel the flow of battle against another again, distract him from the numbing feeling in his mind.

Wails were emitting from the battle, England hoped it would be over soon. He wanted something to change, and he could feel it coming.

**1492 – Christopher Colobus of Spain heads to America, and King Fernando and Queen Isabella's army capture Granda after a long siege**

Spain felt passion roaring off his heart as he watched the shore line getting smaller and smaller, he was sure his king and queen would manage to capture Granda without him.

Meanwhile he and some men were heading out across the sea on a voyage of discovery.

They were being led by Christopher Colobus one of the most inspiring men Spain had ever met. With every word, every ideal Spain found himself dumbly nodding in awe. Now they were sailing together in search of the edge of the world.

It was acceleratingly, terrifying. Spain couldn't wait.

His scythe was safely stored below deck, just in case.

"I see you've got natural sea legs," a sailor slapped him on the back in passing, giving him a smile.

"Don't do anything the sailors ask" Colobus whispered in his ear, "I really mean it."

Spain tilted his head, but decided it was best to obey.

**1494 – The Italian Wars**

The streets were clotted with bodies.

The young Italian nations had not experienced such a war as this before.

Other nations from all sides were coming at them, trying to claim their territory away. Didn't they realise there were already two nations here!

Romano was under attack from Spain and the Ottoman Empire, while Italy had Austria and France fighting all over his lands, not caring who they killed in the process.

"What if we get separated..." Italy clutched his brother's hand tightly, feeling Romano shiver at the thought.

"We won't" Romano promised him, but it sounded to Italy more like his brother was trying to convince himself.

The two twins were huddled on a street corner where they had been sleeping for the last few weeks. It was too dangerous to stay in the palace, and considering what had happened so far more homeless children on the streets wasn't anything noticeable.

"I-I heard that sometimes these nations destroy small nations" Italy trembled, not bothering to hide the fearful tears falling from his eyes.

Biting his lower lip Romano leaned forward to hug his brother tightly; he couldn't deny it, he could only try and reassure.

* * *

"Spain!" Spain only just had time to register France was indicating something before feeling a sharp strike on the back of his head.

An Ottoman soldier had mistaken him for an ordinary soldier and tried to slice his head off. It would give him a headache but nothing more.

He turned his scythe on the soldier, killing him swiftly- almost mercifully after what he'd had to do in the New World.

If France was here it must mean something important; France was fighting for the northern half of Italy, and Spain for the south. He suspected the arrangement had been made so they wouldn't have to fight each other.

"What is it?" Spain jogged through the battle to where France was standing anxiously at the side.

After the hundred year war something had sparked in France for a moment that made him almost as bloodthirsty as the rest of them, but his initial nervousness of battles had returned soon after.

"I'm surprised England didn't come too" Spain observed.

There had been a time when England would throw himself into almost any battle for land he could get at. But he couldn't be seen here.

"New king" was all France said, before changing the subject.

"Spain, my men can carry on a bit longer in the north, but... You're struggling against the Ottoman's, and I heard Austria's got plans on coming down here too..."

"Let him come," Spain laughed, "I will fight them all!"

Again France looked uneasy, "why are you so obsessed with this half of Italy?" He dismissed Spain opening his mouth in protest, "don't deny it. You've always been looking over the sea at this place, why do you want it so much?"

Something trembled over Spain's expression for a moment, then he blinked, smile back firmly on his face.

"I just want some reassurance" he beamed, before rushing back into the heat of battle.

Shaking his head France began to wonder back to the north.

Maybe Spain had reason to want the southern Italian nation, after all from what France could remember about North Italy was pure adorableness! Perhaps the other was like that too?

Well... He couldn't worry about Spain now, he had his own war to win.


	30. Chapter 26

**1497 – England 'claim' America**

Blinking quickly, England was sure something had just caught his eye. He couldn't be quite sure what it was, but whatever it was it was watching him keenly.

"Show yourself!" England swung round where he thought he heard a rustle, pointing his gun in that direction.

Then he hesitated, what if it was a nation?

If he was the one to find the new nation, then Spain could have no argument that this land was his.

Changing tactics quickly, he put down the gun on the ground; pushing it away from him, before calling softly. "Is anyone there?"

There was a small whimper from the bushes, then a tiny boy appeared; his blond hair waving a little in the wind, bright blue inquisitive eyes stared back at England's green ones.

"Hi, I'm England," England held out a hand smiling, this was definitely a nation, he could sense a powerful strength coming from him- this was definitely a nation worth having.

"I-I'm Alf.." He stopped as England clamped a hand over the small boy's mouth. His face was bright red with embarrassment.

"I meant your nation name" England corrected himself, "you don't tell other nations your human name..."

"Why not?" The boy looked up at him with confusion, "I think it sounds friendly..."

"It does" England agreed, "but a little too friendly for friends."

He held out his hand again- showing the boy how to shake it.

"In that case..." The boy spoke again, "I'm America, the land of the free."

England noted that the tiny boy glowed with pride when he said that, his bright blue eyes sparkling with ambition.

At that moment England felt extremely warm towards him; if truth be told, he reminded England a little bit of himself as a child.

"How would you like to become my little brother?" England asked, picking America up in his arms, to get a proper look at him. There was something that looked a little like France in him... But England could see himself there too.

Luckily France was too busy fighting over Italy to claim the little nation before England could.

"Big brother!" America exclaimed joyfully.

As the words were spoken, dark memories came back to England of his own brothers.

"Just call me England," he tapped America's nose, turning to walk away with him, "I'll help you build a house if you like."

**1499 – Switzerland breaks away from Holy Roman Empire's control**

Austria tried to grab at Switzerland, as the blond fourteen year old pulled away from him.

Was Switzerland old enough now that Roma wouldn't destroy him?

Austria found himself fretting.

But it was a lot harder to keep Switzerland around now that Hungary had moved in with him, and he was meant to be away fighting a war for the Holy Roman Empire. But of course hopefully that would mean Roma was to preoccupied to bother with the small area of land next to Austria's.

Hopefully.

"Is Mr Switzerland going?" Austria heard Hungary's voice behind him. She had seen Switzerland storm away from him!

Hot embarrassment washed over him.

When he'd first met Hungary she had believed she was a boy, and seemed far more interested in running around with that loud mouthed Prussian boy than him; but now here she was, wearing a dress!

It almost made him laugh to think what Prussia would think if he saw her.

As far as he knew, the two friend nations hadn't seen each other in a few hundred years, though Hungary would never tell him what passed between them the last time they met.

"I think he wants independence now..." Austria sighed, feeling a little queezy. He knew it was wrong to hold the boy back, but... He was still worried about him.

Hungary must have sensed how upset he was, because she changed the subject.

"How's the war going?" She knew how well Austria had been doing recently; France just didn't seem to have as much stamina as Austria's soldiers did.

Hungary knew that France and the northern Italian nation had once been friends before her or Austria had even been alive, but they hadn't seen each other in well over a thousand years.

"The war's going well" Austria sounded a little brighter, "I have orders from Roma to bring the northern nation back alive when I win."

Hungary laughed, she liked seeing how sure Austria suddenly felt of himself; and it would be nice to have a little nation around again.

**1509 – Henry VIII becomes king of England**

Bowing his head respectfully, England watched as they carried out the dead king. It didn't seem so long ago that the king's eldest son was being carried away either.

That left just one man in line for the throne, and he was only a year older than England looked.

Henry was a sporty man, with a reckless attitude, and not the nicest of tempers. Hopefully he would find a wife soon and settle down, kings with wives always seemed to step down a bit.

He'd heard Henry was planning on marrying Catherine of Aragon- his brother's old _fiancé._

As far as England could see it was a sensible match, that brought them strong allies. The Spaniards were definitely people worth having on your side.

Spain was the most powerful country in the world at this time, he wasn't exactly the sort of country you wanted to go picking arguments with.

**1515 – Switzerland goes into neutrality**

The bloody war was over.

Switzerland finally had his people together again. They were all tired and exhausted, hopefully this meant they would all get along well now.

The whole over affairs in Europe seemed to have fallen into dark times. Except for the English who had found a new taste for conquering far flung countries with little to defend themselves againt the English troops.

Most of the western nations- including Austria, were still at war over Italy, and it didn't look like they were going to stop any time soon.

Though it was due to that war that Holy Roman Empire hadn't made to much of a fuss when Switzerland had announced his independence.

The Ottoman Empire, while fighting in Italy, still seemed to be crawling around the eastern European countries as well.

His boss was discussing the future of their country in a meeting this evening.

It seemed the suggestion of permanent neutrality had gone down well; to Switzerland it seemed like a good idea too.

It meant that they wouldn't be expected to fight in any of these stupid wars that the other nations seemed to insist on fighting.

"It'll never work" Austria had told him, well he would just wait and see!

**1517 – Ottoman Empire invades Egypt**

Greece felt sorry for the boy that Turkey dragged into the house the next day.

Egypt like himself hadn't grown very much since the death of his grandmother, but he was maybe a year older than Greece himself.

It would be nice to have another nation to talk to, after all he refused to speak to Turkey, however much the other nation tried.

Then with a horrid lurch he remembered what he had done to Egypt so many years ago now, when Alexander the Great was in charge of his armies. Would the other boy hold it against him even now?

The first chance Egypt had he pulled away from Turkey's grip, clinging to Greece's arm; while glaring defiantly at Turkey.

Greece found himself smiling a little; did this nation have any other expressions?

"Come on," Greece guided him away from Turkey, "I'll show you to your room."

**1525 – Prussia becomes a hereitary duchy under Albrecht Hohenzollen**

He could feel a new sense of power building up within him. Something so wonderful that he almost felt like he could turn round and argue with his brother (Not that he'd try it).

France had come round to congratulate him, assuring him that Spain sent his best wishes as well.

Spain was still fighting the Ottomans, and it was getting harder since the Austrians had started moving down through south Italy as well.

"What is this?" Prussia looked up from the drink France had poured him from a fancy looking bottle.

"Very good wine," France looked over his glass to give his friend a stern look, as though daring him to suggest other whys.

Finishing the rest of his wine to assure France he meant no offence, Prussia lounged back in his seat.

It was a modern era for Europe. When the idea of living in stony, cold castles was out of fashion. Now they had soft, cushioned velvet seats, with wooden floors, covered with rugs, and all sorts of other luxuries only the rich could afford.

"I heard Spain went to visit England a few years ago" Prussia commented, "an alliance between their countries?"

France nodded roughly, "that's right, England's king married Catherine of Aragon, so he must have wanted to go and see his princess being married off."

Prussia always noticed whenever the subject turned to England now, that where France once would have started bragging and boasting, was now full of bitterness.

He was well aware it had started during the hundred year war, but it was towards the end when France really went for England.

There was that girl who was burnt... Prussia wondered.

He knew France had been interested in her, but he couldn't have fallen in love. Could he?

After Joan had been burnt news quickly spread round Europe that England fled the battle, and only just turned up at the end to order a halt to it, and sign a peace treaty.

"Why's Spain so interested in the south of Italy?" France had changed subjects while Prussia had been thinking.

Prussia shrugged, "hasn't he always been interested?"

"Yes, but I didn't think it was enough to force himself through what he is..." France shook his head, "we haven't seen any sign of the nations..."

"Maybe there aren't any" Prussia pointed out fairly.

France laughed, "you're too young," he seemed to find this terribly amusing. "I knew the northern Italy as a child, in fact he was the one who found me as a new born nation... The only reason I survived was because he persuaded his grandfather not to kill me..."

Shaking his head, he continued, "Spain knew Roman Empire as well, he may even have known him better than me, so he may have known the Italian nations as well. I even saw him attempt to take after one once..."

Now France really did look disturbed by what he was saying, which only interested Prussia more.

"Go on" the white haired nation pressed.

"We all came out to watch the fall of Rome. We saw Rome call out to his grandson to go, then Spain just shot after Italy. Rome barred the way, that was when Germania stabbed him. Of course Spain was mortified by what happened, but he still wanted to follow Italy..."

France stopped, shrugging to show Prussia he didn't know anything else about it.

"I hear Hungary moved in with Austria?" France looked at Prussia, knowing he'd know more about the movements of his brother's territory than France.

"...She did..." Prussia spoke slowly, his words sounded careful, and his voice distant, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"After the time you thought she was a boy" France laughed, "her and Austria are probably..."

"SHUT-UP!" France had never heard Prussia so angry. It wasn't the cold voice he was afraid of, it was even worse than that; this voice overflowed with every emotion France could believe possible.

The white haired nation was panting in rage, red eyes narrowed into slits.

"She sided with that BASTARD!" After all we went through, "she won't even speak to ME!" A hysteria seemed to be whipping up around France like a hurricane.

"Prussia..." He spoke slowly, "calm..."

He touched his friend's shoulder gently; wishing more than ever that Spain was here, he was so much better at this than France was.

* * *

Things were not going well in the palace.

England's greatest fear was that Spain would come over and fight him over it; but luckily he seemed too preoccupied in his current war.

Henry had a great number of mistresses, the whole court knew it. But none so much as the young Anne Boleyn.

She was at least ten years younger than the king, but that did not stop her flirting back. Did she think she was going to end up being queen, or something!

Worse still, the court had pushed him forward to talk to the king.

England knew it was only because the king couldn't execute his nation- even if he wanted to.

"Your majesty..." England managed to catch him coming back from a hunt, the king looked like he was staying around at least long enough for England to speak.

"This Anne Boleyn..." He began not sure how to carry on, "you aren't serious are you?"

"Of course not," Henry gave him a look that England couldn't quite read, before carrying on into his room, but the nation followed him.

"Because you seem to be leading the court and your wife to believe something serious is going on..." Henry suddenly turned, seizing the front of England's shirt, almost pulling him off his feet.

"Have you ever been married to someone like that! And seen all the pretty people walking around, knowing they're off limits to you!"

Truthfully England shook his head.

He suddenly didn't like the closeness of the other man, it frightened him a little.

"I've broken the rules of the so called church over and over again!" Henry snapped, as he pressed England's back against the closest wall. Leaning forward to whisper in his nation's ear, "but I have never used force, either you say yes now, or I'll work you until you say yes."

Reality dawned on the young nation. If Anne Boleyn was young for the king, he certainty was (at least physically).

"Sire, are you sure your okay...?" England tried to struggle out of his grip,

"Perfectly!" He threw the nation to the ground, pressing his royal foot down hard on England's back, while removing his sharp looking belt.

England felt lash after lash raining down on him.

Unlike normal humans, the pain your leaders inflicted seemed almost as bad as what another nation could do.

Letting out a yell of pain as his back seemed to split over and over again, England tried again to pull away.

"Give in?" Henry asked, dropping his belt so he could reach for the riding crop.

England didn't reply, he knew the king would understand his refusal.

Another slash came down on his back.

"Guards!" The king called, removing his foot from England's back, where blood could clearly be seen, seeping through his white shirt.

The guards looked surprised at the sight of their nation sprawled on the ground, with red marks lacing his back.

"Take him to the tower, and put him in an uncomfortable cell, if you catch my drift," the king gave England a nasty look, that told him he'd be making regular visits.


	31. Chapter 27

**1534 – Henry VIII makes himself head of the English church, and marries Anne Boleyn**

"He's done it," the adviser's voice was soft as he whispered through the bars of the cell.

There were very few people who knew exactly where England was being held, in fact England himself wasn't sure whether he remembered either.

But there was still one adviser to the king who managed to find him and bring him news of what was going on around the country.

"Done what?" England's voice was a whisper, it cracked when he spoke. It was too painful to speak.

The king had kept his word, and had not forced him to do anything, but just like he had promised that, he also visited England's cell regularly...

"The king's married Anne Boleyn, he actually made himself head of the English church!" There was clear panic in the adviser's voice.

In the darkness England closed his eyes- not that it made much of a difference to what he could see. "What does Spain think about it?"

"Well obviously he's furious, but too busy fighting in Italy to do us any damage. But I can't imagine the Pope is too happy about this either..."

Sighing, England let his numb head loll back against a wall. The king wouldn't listen to him, he had no way of influencing what happened, but he was certain that at some point Spain would defiantly try and settle the score.

However friendly Spain may look England knew from France's old stories what a terrifying nation he could become.

"I have to go now" the adviser sadly announced, "I should warn you the king himself intends to visit you and brag..." His voice was full of sympathy, and regret that there was nothing he could do.

"Thanks," and England meant it from the bottom of his heart; he was eternally grateful to the man he never saw who kept him company.

England knew Henry was still waiting for a son, and Anne had given birth to only a girl; all her sons had been stillborns.

With the age Henry was coming up to now, England thought it unlikely that a son would come.

What would happen if there wasn't one?

**1536 – Anne Boleyn is executed, and Henry VIII marries Jane Seymour**

Another wedding, England could hear the bells outside the tower.

He assumed it was nothing to do with the king- though it did sound important. But his friend would have been to tell him if it had been anything to do with the king...

...It was a lot of noise the people were making; England usually couldn't hear the street outside.

Outside in the street France pushed his way through the crowds. He'd only come here to talk to England (without Spain's knowing) to tell him what his king was doing couldn't continue.

~/~

France's own country was swamped with Catholics who were all trying to escape from Henry VIII wrath.

He'd been sent by his leader to get to the bottom of all this mess. What was England doing letting his king get away with this!

But so far all he'd been able to find was a wedding. The king's wedding at that. Wasn't it usual for nations to attend their king's weddings?

….Even if it was the third.

Rushing forward he crashed into a group of guards that were escorting a prisoner out of the tower. The man looked wild with panic.

France's heart bled when he saw the man; he was probably another poor Catholic found by Henry.

He called out to the guards, "do you know where your nation is?"

They shrugged, and pointed at Henry, but the man they were dragging away gave a small flail of his arms, as if trying to say something; but when he opened his mouth France could see his tongue had been completely severed.

The men looked in their early twenties, and were staring at France as if they weren't quite sure what a nation was.

"Excuse me," France retreated back through the crowd to where Henry was seated at the head of the table.

"Can I do something for you?" The king sounded unusually cheerful, maybe this marriage would actually work.

"Where's England, I need to speak to him," France wasted no time in getting to the point, he didn't intend on staying long; he just felt someone should warn England out of his suddenly reckless behaviour.

"You can discuss it with _me_ after the wedding" Henry offered, leaning around France to give his new wife a kiss.

"I would like to speak to the nation" France repeated, rolling his eyes; was this England trying to avoid him?

"I might as well be the nation myself" Henry laughed, France heard the group of people around him laugh as well, "Some guards caught one of my own advisers going to see him you know."

There was a disproving nod around the table.

Not quite sure he was following, France spoke again. England couldn't avoid him forever.

"Come with me," Henry shrugged at the audience, turning to guide France away out of the public sight.

The change was immediate.

"_First _you come here during my wedding feast to _demand _something off a _king_! _Then _you ask me where my nation is!" The excessively growing man (outwards) leaned forward to spit in France's face. "I've had that bastard locked up in the tower for the last ten years or so!"

Wiping the spit away France felt a blaze of fury. He turned on Henry, pulling himself up to his full height.

"No, let me tell you _majesty! _You never ever speak to a nation like this if you expect to last long, and you never ever lock your own nation away from you! Where are you keeping him!"

France was asking the question so he knew how high up he had to go up in the tower- Even the king couldn't be giving his nation the worst rooms at the bottom.

But Henry was smiling smugly, "He's as low down as you can go."

Throwing the king away from him, France ran through the streets of London, pushing anyone in his path.

Gratefully he noted that the guards did not stop him- he must look important enough.

Finding the first staircase down, he picked up his pace. What sort of conditions had England been kept in all this time!

He found the last dungeon right at the bottom of the stairs.

"L'Angleterre?" He bent low by the barred door, trying to peer into the darkness, to catch sight of the other nation.

He heard a hurried clatter, like someone was trying to get away, but couldn't because of the chains that held him down.

Pulling in his hair for a pin, he began working at the lock. Waiting for England to tell him to piss off, or to even just ask what he was doing.

No sound came.

For a moment France worried, considering whether he was in the right cell, or if he was trying to free some potentially dangerous criminal.

But then, in the half light he saw him; and straight away wished he hadn't.

Throwing open the door France rushed to him, immediately trying to unpick the locks on the chains that held him to the wall.

The gag in England's mouth was filthy, almost like it was washed in a gutter before being stuck into the boy's mouth. He was thin too; even more thin than the last time they'd met. His eyes looked dead and blank, hollowed into his head.

"England please speak!" France felt fear in his chest, as England's blood dampened his own clothes when France held the younger nation to his chest.

England looked almost like he was the same age as France; perhaps seventeen, only two years behind him.

The only sign of recognition he got from England was the look of fear that bulged like a wound in England's eyes, as though he were remembering something beyond terrifying.

There was a rusty clank as the chains came away from England's blooded wrists, hitting the dull stone floor.

"What has he done to you?" France's breath caught in his throat as he tried to speak. Trying to fight the feeling of despair that threatened to wash over him, every time he looked at his old friend.

Gritting his teeth together, France let out a hiss of anger, "that king of yours better die of his own accord quick, or I'll kill him!"

England just stared blankly at him.

"Come on!" France snapped, pulling England to his feet, and pulling him from the cell.

He could feel the other nation struggling behind him, trying to stay upright, but then one of his legs gave way.

England emitted a small wail of pain- the first sound he had made since France had found him.

It had been so much easier when England was small enough to carry...

France paused, weighing up the other visually, before swinging forwards and scooping England into his arms to carry him up the rest of the stairs.

Yes, he was heavier than when he was a child, but it didn't seem too much- considering France had grown since then as well, and England hadn't eaten in what was probably the last ten years.

"I saw a field..." England's parched mouth opened, lips cracking as he moved his lips over the words. He was staring up at France's eyes, the same fearful look was back again; though he did not struggle.

"A field?" Although he knew it must be hurting, it reassured France when England spoke.

"All those years ago... I saw a field..." His eyes began to close, letting France carry him silently up the rest of the stairs.

He never knew how to handle England. His personality fluttered so much that it was impossible to keep up. The last France had heard was that England had gone predatory- hunting new nations.

And now he was the child that had once relied on him so much. Who knew what he'd be like when he woke up...

Ignoring the shocked looks of the crowd that was still gathered for the king's wedding, France pushed on to the docks. His crew _should _still be there; he didn't want to have to go and fetch them from the pubs while England was like this.

Luckily, and by some amazing chance, all his men were on-board the ship, looking like they were ready to set sail.

"Did you speak to him?" One asked, before noticing the man in France's arms, "...Did you do that to him?"

France shook his head, "his own king did this to him" he answered, carrying England below deck before any more questions could be asked.

Only now he'd finally set England down on his bed did he realise how tiring it had been to carry him.

Sitting down next to England's bent form, he brought out a hand to comb the other nation's short blond hair; before curling up beside him; being sure to pull him close to his chest.

The next morning the captain woke him up with a knock at the door. He was calling in to say they were almost on French soil.

He made an acknowledging noise, opening his blue eyes slowly; trying to remember what he'd been doing before he fell asleep.

Then he remembered England. The young man who was now sleeping alongside him. Messy blond hair that would never be tampered with stood at odd angles- looking even worse than when France usually saw him, giving France a thankful assurance that at least England would _try_ to comb it before going out.

The injuries were still on his body, but they looked a little more faded.

France had heard from Poland that a nation's leader could hurt his own nation almost as much as another nation could.

Poland had a scar on his chest from one of his leaders. Not that France had seen it, but Lithuania had confirmed it, with a shadowed look on his face.

"Will you have any more scars?" France whispered, noting the white mark on England's eyelid from a war that France could hardly remember the details of without sitting and thinking about it.

He himself had scars where England had struck him during the hundred year war; he also had a small one on his shoulder from Turkey.

What about England. What scars did he have?

With a sudden jolt England's green eyes blazed open. For a moment they looked fierce, but then the fight left them again, and France found himself staring at the frightened empty stare.

"You're staying with me, till that king's gone" France murmured, feeling he should explain why they were laying next to each other in bed.

England nodded, a slightly clearer look emerging.


	32. Chapter 28

**1547 – Ivan IV (The terrible) becomes the first Czar of Russia**

Watching them from afar Russia looked at his new ruler, and at his people. The sad faces told him of their fear without him even having to sense it.

The crown was being lowered slowly onto Czar Ivan's head, as if the the one crowning him believed it would shorten the amount of time the Czar had to rule them.

He's a bully... Russia thought sadly to himself, looking longingly to the south. He'd heard stories of countries where the sun always shined, and it was so warm in the summer you had to splash in the sea to cool down.

He envied those countries, and the nations they belonged to.

However vast his land was, it was all snow and ice, and too cold to consider taking of a coat, let alone swim in the sea.

"Maybe I could make friends with the nations in the south..." Russia pondered to himself, loosing interest in what he already knew was a disastrous coronation.

He looked about fifteen now he decided; was that old enough to leave his country and find friends?

There was always Ukraine and his sister... But they were both under the control of the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth, and Russia was certain he couldn't take them on _at the moment_.

Besides, Belarus had always frightened him a little, he would only go to her if he was desperate.

**1558 – Queen Elizabeth I becomes queen of England**

Smiling lightly to himself, France knocked on England's bedroom door.

Ever since he had taken England to stay with him France had felt himself growing again. He had to be about twenty now- though England still remained seventeen.

"Coming to breakfast?" France called through the door, knowing the English nation would no shorter than kill him if he just strolled into the room. England had named it English territory for his stay.

"Be down in a minuet frog" England called through the door, sounding cheerful enough for him.

The 'Frog' nickname had sprung up not so long after he'd recovered. France had offered him one of his country's new delicacies, to which England had growled, knocked it to the floor and begun calling France froggy (Later shortened to just Frog).

A moment later England opened the door, closing it quickly behind him, like he believed France was going to try and push in.

"What are we having?" He would ask this question every morning, France had noted very soon on to when they'd started living together.

It seemed that in England they seemed to have the same thing to eat every morning- washed down with a cup of tea taken from England's new Indian dominion's country.

England almost seemed excited to hear what new Petit déjeuner they were having in the mornings.

"I thought Croissants and jam would do" France shrugged, falling into pace beside England, he was unable to stop smiling, moving with a tiny spring in his step.

He'd been like this ever since England had recovered.

As much as he was loathed to admit it, he enjoyed having England back by his side to comment on and tease whenever he felt like it; and just like when he was a child, England would get just as wound up and flustered.

"And how is the English territory?" France smirked, referring to England's room, that he'd complained thoroughly about since he was put in it.

"The bed's still uncomfortable" England muttered, but France knew he was joking. Dry humour he thought the English called it...

When they arrived down stairs it was to find France's king, and a red haired woman waiting for them.

"May I introduce the queen of England," The French king removed his hat slowly, as if a little uncomfortable.

"A wife? Who's king?" Surely Henry couldn't still be alive!

France had kept all the news concerning Henry away from England while he'd been here, so he wasn't quite up to date.

"No," the red haired woman gave him a quick smile, "I am the Queen, and ruler of England, my older sister, and younger brother are both dead, I am the only heir."

France and England's mouths dropped open. A Queen!

"I have come to take my nation home," she moved slowly towards England, who backed away hastily.

France stood ready just in case he needed to defend the younger nation.

"We've all missed you," the Queen bowed low, "I have never known you, neither did my brother, but our sisters told us stories of you..." She looked a little excited as she spoke. "We want you to come home again."

A pain jabbed at France's heart. But he always knew this would happen some day, he couldn't cling to England forever; he knew he must be homesick...

"France..." The French nation saw England turn to face him, his own face betraying a wistful look, but duty bound him. "I-I'll never forget how you helped me... Even if it seems like I've forgotten... I'll always remember..."

"We all will," the queen bowed to France gratefully. "Come England" she motioned, leading him to the door.

England followed her, without looking back.

**1559 – The end of the Italian wars**

"No!" Spain's angry yells echoed around the palace.

His leaders had signed their surrender, stating it was too much of a burden on the people and their resources.

But they had to keep fighting! They didn't understand!

Austria had taken both brother's to Holy Roman Empire's house!

"I'll announce war on the Holy Roman Empire if I have to!" He threatened, hurling a globe across the war room.

Many people were backing from the room, terrified by their nation's anger.

"No!" He screamed again, despair running thickly over him , as he fell to the ground, dropping his scythe on the red and gold carpet.

"W-We've had a c-call..." A frightened looking servant crept into the room what could have been days later.

"Who?" Spain stayed where he laid- sprawled out on the ground, with his face pressed to the carpet; perhaps in the hope he may be able to suffocate if he stayed there long enough.

"From the Holy Roman Empire's house... It's Austria..." With the message delivered the servant fled.

Austria! He dared to phone here!

What for!

To brag most likely!

Well he would go there and teach Austria not to dare attempt something like that again.

No one tried to stop him leaving, and no one stopped him on the way.

Fire could have been burning from him; lapping against his cold, furious blood.

The guards at Holy Roman Empire's house did try to stop him, but he cut them down easily enough.

Inside the gates he spotted a girl sweeping; she must be Hungary Spain supposed.

When she saw him, she fled inside the house, probably to warn Austria and Holy Roman Empire of his arrival.

Spain knew Prussia wouldn't be here. Ever since an unnamed incident he refused to be anywhere near Hungary. But Spain suspected her sucking up to Austria was really what the problem was.

"What!" He flew into Austria's study, almost knocking the doors off their hinges as he went. He had seen no sign of either Italy brothers while in the house. Was Holy Roman Empire draining them as he walked!

Hungary was stood worriedly, but determinedly by Austria's side, while the black haired nation looked on, perfectly calm.

"You're earlier than I expected," he took out a pocket watch, hung on a thick gold chain.

He looked Spain's scruffy apperance up and down warily.

"Couldn't you have at least had a bath?"

His dammed calmness was starting to get on Spain's nerves.

If this carried on much longer he would announce war on the Holy Roman Empire whether his people supported him or not!

"I'm giving you Italy's older twin brother," Austria handed him a file, looking uninterested.

For a moment the world seemed to turn incredibility slowly. Then Spain came back to life again.

Now he concentrated he could hear wailing coming from another room in the house.

"No, he can't go!" A child was wailing,

"Tough!" Was the last voice, that could only belong to the Holy Roman Empire himself.

"H-His older twin brother...?" Spain closed his eyes, remembering the child he had held in his arms before either Austria or Hungary had been alive.

It was hard to believe the two Italies were so young, after all the years that had passed them. They were almost as old as him in real year terms.

Not that Austria or Hungary would believe him if he told them.

"We don't want him" Austria shrugged.

"_Why would I want him" _The words stung for a moment, and Spain reconsidered announcing war on the Holy Roman Empire, but it was best not, after all they had given him the most important half of what he had set out to take.

"I'll take him" Spain beamed, letting the ancient warmth spread through him.

"We've sent him ahead, he should be there when you get back," Austria made a sweeping motion with his hand, to let Spain know that he was dismissed.

The tanned nation didn't need telling twice.

He raced from the room, sprinting back towards his country, and on into his own house. What would he be like? After all he couldn't still be a baby.

Opening the door slowly- savouring the moment. Spain peered into the front room. It was empty.

"Hello?" He moved fully into the house, closing the door behind him.

There was the sound of tiny footsteps, and a boy of about nine appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

If he peered round the corner, Spain could see a huge mess, seeping out into the entrance hall.

Brown hair. Darker, more like Marina's had been like.

Even after all these years, Spain could remember his mother (Adoptive) like it was only the other day.

The dark brown eyes were more like Rome's, and he had a little of his mother and father in him as well.

"I've made a mess" the boy smirked, waiting for Spain to get angry and send him back to Holy Roman Empire without even saying hello.

But Spain wasn't concentrating, or he didn't even care.

"What's your name?" Spain remembered the name he had given the child himself, but his father probably would have changed it, and that was a human name, he needed to know the boy's nation name.

"Romano" the boy sniffed, glaring at Spain- furious that he hadn't exploded when Romano told him what he'd been working on since he got through the door.

Suddenly Romano found himself bundled into Spain's arms, embracing him tightly.

"Welcome home Romano," the joy spilling from Spain's voice made Romano uncomfortable. This man was speaking to him as though he'd known him all his life.

"Piss off!" Romano snapped. If messing up the house didn't work, then his vulgar language usually did it.

But he couldn't help but feel touched by Spain's words: "Welcome home Romano".

No one but his brother had ever said such a thing to him...

Certainly not his father...

"I'll show you your room," again Romano's words were ignored, "I didn't know you were coming today, but I did put a little something together a while ago in case I won the war..."

"Bastard" Romano muttered, half intending Spain to hear it, half hoping he didn't.

He thought he heard Spain smile something under his breath, but he might have been mistaken.


	33. Ages 4

Greece – 12

Turkey – 20

France – 20

Spain – 18

Italy – 9

Romano – 9

Austria – 17

Japan – 18

England – 17

Ukraine – 18

Belarus – 13

Russia – 15

Denmark – 16

Norway – 15

Prussia – 17

HRE – 9

Hungary – 16

Poland – 15

Lithuania – 15

Switzerland – 14

Taiwan – 18

Korea – 16

America – 5


	34. Chapter 29

_Note from the author: When from Roma or Austria's perspective Italy is called 'she' when with Hungary and Italy it is 'he'_

"Please!" Italy struggled against Holy Roman Empire's grasp, but it felt like the other boy's muscles were made of steel. "He's my brother!"

"He causes more trouble than he's worth!" Roma was trying to explain, while holding in his famous temper.

When Austria had walked in with the two twins, Roma had been absolutely speechless. Next to that rotten, bad tempered southern Italian, his sister had sat; quietly looking at her own feet, clutching at the hem of her robes.

A faint memory of a child surveying a bloody battle rose to his mind. Germania had mentioned Rome also had a grandchild. Was that the girl he'd seen fleeing from battle when Spain charged at her.

Feeling a shiver go up his spine, Roma breathed a sigh of relief, what would that perverted bastard of done with Italy? The thoughts were unimaginable Roma found when he tried to contemplate it.

Romano should be okay though, he'd insult any nation or person to such a level they didn't even want to be in the same room as him, but his sister...

"Shall I take you back to your room?" Roma offered, feeling a strange shyness coming over him. But his strange expression only seemed to scare Italy, who began crying softly- unsure what exactly to cling on to.

The door opened and Hungary stepped in, looking down at where they were struggling on the floor. One in tears, the other bright red with embarrassment.

Unable to help herself Hungary burst out laughing.

"What are you two doing?" She spluttered, bending down to smooth out the dress she'd given Italy.

She thought it was rather amusing that both Austria and Roma were completely convinced Italy was a girl- it reminded her a little of her childhood; without having to think about it too hard that is...

"I-I was just offering to take Ita-Chan to her room!" Roma defended himself, face contorting into an even more terrifying look.

Italy let out another cry, burring his head into Hungary's dress. She had noticed that Italy didn't actually correct them on his gender either, though he obviously knew himself.

But then she had done that a little as well after she'd found out she was a girl. Maybe Italy felt more secure if he led them to believe he was a girl. After all look how Roma had treated the other male nations under him.

Austria had it lucky compared to some of the others, and that was only because Roma actually lived in his house.

Maybe Italy was smarter than he looked...

"I'll take Ita-chan to 'her' room" Hungary offered, knowing Roma wouldn't be able to refuse her help.

He gave a swift nod, looking grumpy.

Hungary took Italy's hand leading him from the room in the direction of his own bedroom- next to her own.

Austria's bedroom was at the end of the hallway, and Roma's was a little way down, the other bedrooms were used for guest; and she supposed one must be Prussia's, if he ever showed up at Austria's house.

"D-Do I really look like a girl?" Italy whispered, like the notion surprised him. He supposed he was wearing girls clothes, but even in girls clothes most other males couldn't pass for girls... Well maybe France until he opened his mouth.

Italy remembered when he and France had been children they'd both often been mistaken for girls. But since then France had grown to an adult; wasn't he older than France!

It was a strange thought, one that was often confusing when the nations referred to each other. Especially when he'd told Romano he had been the one that actually found France as a new born nation.

But Roma was also probably about the same age as Italy and he couldn't be more than a year older than Italy and his brother physically.

"How old is miss Hungary?" Italy changed his question before Hungary could answer the first one.

She smiled, patting his head gently, "I look sixteen, and I'm probably over eight-hundred in real years, but Ita-chan still looks so young..." She looked wistful for a moment, though it did not last long.

"I'm really old really" Italy told her, "me and Roma were around well before Grandfather... disappeared. I'm older than France, but I think I'm younger than Spain, so I must have been born between 1200 BC and 52 BC..." He trailed off looking at Hungary's shocked face.

"Wow!" She breathed, "don't tell Roma that, he'll ask too many questions, though I expect he must know a little about when you were around... He said you were both at that final battle between Rome and Germania..."

"Yes..." Italy gave a slow painful nod, "it feels so long ago now... But it's still so sharp in my memory..."

Hungary wanted to say Italy was lucky Roma hadn't starved Italy and Romano out of existence too, and he may have done that to Romano if he hadn't cared so much what Italy thought...

She technically was not part of the Holy Roman Empire, but her country was under the Ottoman rule, and she'd been sent here till they were rid of them.

"I'm a little tired now" Italy yawned, stopping outside his bedroom door.

"Goodnight" Hungary gave him a warm smile, "don't worry about your brother; out of Prussia, France, and Spain, Spain seems the nicest..." She didn't want to tell Italy what Spain had looked like when he'd first arrived at Austria's house.

She had only met Spain a few times before that, but she'd always heard from other nations that he was always good tempered, and cheerful.

Was that dark side of him just a one off, or was it more common than that.

Should she ask France and Prussia?

Her stomach churned at the thought of asking Prussia, but she could just about bare France, as long as she ensured she was completely covered.

~/~

She set off for France the next morning, assuring Austria she was just shopping. Luckily for her she could get to France and back in the same amount of time she usually spent at the shops. Though she assumed that was the same for most women.

Knocking heavily at the door she waited for a reply, praying Prussia wasn't over or anything like that.

Thankfully in was France who opened the door, when he saw her hesitation, he gave a small smirk, "don't worry Prussia isn't here."

She glared at him, how much had Prussia told him about what had happened the day they separated?

"Bedroom or office?" France grinned once he had shut the door behind her. Giving a huff Hungary swung her bag around his head- almost knocking him senseless.

"What have you got in that thing!" France clutched at his head, wincing, looking fearfully at the bag in case she tried to hit him again.

But he seemed to have got the message.

He didn't lead her into the office though, but a plushly decorated room, a little like the ones Austria had at his house.

To her horror she noticed Spain was lounging on one of the sofas, looking up at them with a bright looking smile- he looked nothing like what Hungary had remembered from his last visit. Was it possible she'd been mistaken?

"What can we do for you miss Hungary?" France raised his eyebrows at Spain, but Hungary didn't feel it was worth her efforts to hit him again.

"I-I wanted to know..." She took a deep breath, "Italy wants to be sure his brother is safe!" She blurted out, noticing Spain's look of shock.

"Ah, but you came to see me?" France pressed, "as I'm sure you know, young Romano was given to Spain yesterday, that's why he's here; he came to tell me."

Shifting uncertaintly, while avoiding Spain's gaze she continued, "before Austria suggested Spain take Romano, we were all under the impression he was rather calm and easy going... I was worried because of how..." She trailed off, knowing Spain and France had understood her message.

"Is that normal?" She turned to France, "or would you say it was just a one off after losing the war?"

If possible France and Spain exchanged the smallest of glances, perhaps Spain let loose a panicked sign. But again Hungary couldn't be sure.

"No" France spoke after a moment, "He's never been like that before."

Breathing a sigh of relief Hungary got to her feet.

"Well, that's all, thank you for your time gentlemen," she swept herself from the house.

When the two young men heard the door close behind her, they let out a thick breath.

"You owe me big time for that!" France growled, slightly under his breath.

"But I wouldn't ever lay a finger on Romano, you know that," Spain blinked at him in disbelief, "I couldn't."

"No" France agreed, "but what would you do if someone did hurt Romano, or take him away from you?" The blond nation's face was serious as he spoke, he watched Spain's face carefully; saw the shadow pass over, then the smile appear again- even wider than usual.

"I'd hunt them down and kill them, whoever they were" he beamed.

France would have questioned further, but at that moment Prussia came strolling into the room. He had that sort of annoying habit of just walking into France's house.

It seemed that in silent agreement both Spain and France had decided not to tell Prussia about Hungary's visit.

* * *

America let out an excited cheer when he opened the door to find England standing there. It had been ages since England had visited him; king troubles, England had muttered when America had asked him where he'd been.

The two were now sitting in one of the strangely vast and beautiful fields that covered America's territory.

England was laid down on his back, while America scurried around, rolling in the dirt, and generally making himself absolutely filthy.

"You know this sort of place always reminds me of something" England murmured after a while.

"What?" America stopped what he was doing, coming to sit on the older nation's lap, as England sat up from his relaxed position; propping himself up on his hands.

"A free place" he replied, "where it felt like you could do anything you wanted..."

"Why didn't you stay?" America pressed, prodding England in the chest.

England took a deep breath, closing his eyes, "some nations die, I fought back."

He opened his eyes when America let out a splutter of laughter, "don't be silly England, nations don't die!"

Smiling at him, England brushed his ward off his lap, getting back onto his feet in the same movement. "Come on, let's get you home and in the bath."

**1569 – Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth formed**

"Why do we have to do this?" Poland ran his fingers lightly over Lithuania's lower jaw, "we're already living together..."

Lithuania sighed, giving his lover a quick smile, "our leaders just want to ensure both our countries stay strong by joining both countries into a common-wealth" he explained, for what must have been the fiftieth time that day.

"Well I suppose it's a good idea" Poland murmured, taking Lithuania's face in his hands and kissing it. "We'll be together in definitely now."

The brown haired boy laughed, clutching Poland's hand, "we'll always be together, and we'll always take care of each other."

"I love you" Poland held their hands up so they could both see the entwined fingers now on display for the whole world to see.

"I love you too," Lithuania's heart always gave an excited jump when he said those words.


	35. Chapter 30

**1585 – Anglo-Spanish War**

Both his neighbouring nations were at war.

France had stayed clear of the fighting but it didn't stop the odd French dock being damaged by a passing Spanish or English ship.

Spain himself had left Romano at France's house while the war was going on; it seemed he had indeed taken an offence when Henry had divorced one of his people.

Also there was still that stupid argument over religion that France didn't really see the point in.

Spain was determined to be a Catholic country, and defend the religion at all costs, while England was determined not to be a Catholic country at all costs.

There wasn't even that much difference when you looked at it.

"I'm hungry bastard!" Romano snapped at him, waking France from his daydreams. He narrowed his eyes, how could Spain put up with this kid- England may have been difficult, and nasty, but he wasn't straight out rude!

"What do you want?" France sighed, getting to his feet and moving into the kitchen.

Whatever he had against Romano, he knew Spain would never forgive him if Romano saw him when he was at war.

"When is Spain coming to get me?" Romano continued, clambering up on the stool to reach the jar Spain had left, labelled 'Romano' full to the brim with Tomatoes that Romano would probably finish in a few days.

"When he's finished fighting," France steadied the stool, trying not to think to hard about what England and Spain must be doing to each other.

"I still don't see why I can't just stay at home" Romano mumbled.

That was the only sign of affection he ever seemed to show to Spain- that he always referred to Spain's house as home. England would never have done that, even if France had promised to be his eternal slave.

~/~

"Trying to invade my country were you!" England yelled across the waters from his ships to Spain's, "I won't even let you near it!"

The only reply he got was for another cannon to be fired from Spain's massive battleships- England's smaller ones dodged them neatly, almost taunting at the Spanish fleet.

England could feel the rage burning off the other nation even from the distance they were at. Spain had heard what he'd said alright.

The power of battle was stirring in both of them; their adrenaline pumping madly round their bodies taking over any sense of reasoning. For this reason they had kept America and Romano well away.

His fingers twitched to pull his sword from his belt, and leap on one of those ships; cutting down every man he could get hold of.

But he didn't have to wait.

A string of ropes from one of the Spanish ships landed at his feet. There would be some bloodshed after all.

Running his sword blade along his tongue- just to get a taste for blood before he started, England waited for the Spanish troops to begin dropping onto the deck.

**1588 – England beats the Spanish Armada**

"Fuck you!" Spain let out a yell of anger as he was kicked to the floor, so he was bowing at England's feet.

"Language," he could feel England's smirk winking smugly at him, only making his blood bubble hotter.

England rested his foot against Spain's side, kicking him hard in the gut, "we won after all didn't we?" He kicked him again, "That nation you once all took pity on is quickly developing an Empire larger than that of the Roman Empire's," satisfaction dripped from the blond nation's jaws.

"And what happened to the Roman Empire?" Spain found a foothold to get at the upper-ground again, "he disappeared, you took America from me, but one day just like all nations that get to big, you will fall apart and join him!"

He felt a tremor from where England had his boot still resting on his side.

"What would you know about where Roman Empire went!" He demanded, suddenly seizing a handful of Spain's hair using it to smack his head hard onto the ground.

"What would you know about it?" Spain could feel that the English nation was shaking all over, pure terror.

...Just like the Roman Empire. But there was something more... Spain knew he himself had developed the fear of dying from Rome, but he could feel something stirring in England's memory, though it seemed England wasn't quite sure what it was himself.

Spain felt his hair being released, and England's foot pull away from him.

Risking a look up he saw England's eyes wide with trauma, mouth open in a sort of silent half scream.

Fire was dancing in his eyes, then a powerful shock hit him.

England shot away from Spain shaking his head quickly.

"W-When he's signed the peace treaty send him home," England's voice shook as he spoke, and he turned away quickly, bringing his finger to his mouth, biting hard on it; to distract himself from whatever nightmare was going on in his head.

When the treaty had been signed, good as his word, England had him sent back to Spain.

It had been three years since he'd seen Romano, he hoped in those years Romano hadn't decided he'd rather live at France's house. He's hate to have to destroy his friend after all.

Ignoring his house, Spain dashed towards the French border. France must of heard from England what had happened.

But when he arrived at the Frenchman's house, it seemed like England hadn't actually been to visit him after all, perhaps Spain's comment had disturbed England a lot deeper than he thought it would.

"One of the English ships did land here for repairs" France admitted, "none of them have said anything to me though about winning, they just told me England had gone to visit America..." As France trailed off Spain could hear deep rooted envy stirring in France's tone.

"Is Romano here?" Spain looked around, picking up pillows, and bending under chairs.

"He's just coming..." France looked hard at Spain, "but before he sees you, you might want to have a bath..."

"Why do people always say that when I come and see Romano somewhere?" Spain gave a small wail of impatience.

France held up a mirror for Spain to look at himself; his face was clotted thick in blood- though most of it probably wasn't his own, though the cut on his forehead was still bleeding freely. His head was gushing from the scalp where England had pulled at his hair.

"Okay" Spain agreed letting France lead him to one of the bathrooms.

As he peeled off his clothes Spain felt his new scars burn, they only stung more when he climbed into the hot water.

He had one on his lower spine, from where England had stabbed him through the back about a year ago, another on his side from England again- but apart from that he seemed to have escaped relatively unharmed; the scars were also easy enough to cover up.

When all the blood had been washed away, and his cuts had stopped bleeding, Spain pulled his damp clothes over his head, pulling his scythe behind him; realising at once he shouldn't have brought it with him.

However much he tried the scythe could not be cleaned of blood, it seemed the more he tried to wash away, the more there was.

He dropped it just outside the door to the sitting room before Romano could see it, he'd have to come back and pick it up later.

"Romano-Chan!" Spain rushed into the room, sweeping the child into his arms, "shall we go home? I've got loads of Tomatoes we can eat! How about I take you somewhere to eat? We've got loads to talk about!"

He only stopped talking because Romano head-butted him in the gut.

"Shut-up bastard!" Romano growled, in a voice that would have turned France into a fury, and had done at some points while Romano had been staying with him. But Spain only laughed, hugging Romano tighter.

France shook his head, telling himself he's never understand it.

But then he supposed he did. England made enemies out of so many nations, yet France still felt incredibly attached to him.

**1600 – Battle of Sekigahera in Japan**

More war, and more war.

Why were his people fighting each other all the time, weren't they even interested in fighting other countries!

Japan sometimes felt a pang of loneliness when he thought of all the other nations in the world, he wanted to get to know them, learn about their cultures... Were they all as war like as his country, or was he a failure as a nation.

He watched the sakura blossom falling lightly from the trees, letting its beauty captivate him for a moment, he wanted life to go on like this. When you had time just to sit and watch blossom falling from a tree, but he knew one of his sides would be trying to persuade him to fight on their behalf any time now.

They didn't seem to understand that Japan didn't want to fight, especially his own people.

**1603 – Queen Elizabeth I dies. James I of England / James VII of Scotland becomes the first king of England and Scotland**

Panic swept through the palace walls. The queen had died, with no heirs of her own, which meant they only had one choice. One none of them were particularity keen on.

"NO!" England yelled when the adviser told him the solution, "we can't and we won't!" He knew his brother may see this as a chance to take control of him and his country. "We can't have a _Scottish _king in power!"

"Please don't worry, he'll be living here, the power of this country should keep him focused here at least..."

But then of course, even England could see how much his older brother would hate that. Having a king who turned his back on his own people.

"It is done!" The adviser seemed to lose his patience with the nation, "we have to move on!"

Anger blazing through his veins England turned away from him, running through and out of the palace, he had to get away, get somewhere else, even if it was just to think.

He couldn't turn up in front of America like this, which left him only one other place to go...

~/~

France was jolted awake by a vicious hammering at the door.

It had to be at least two in the morning, what was someone doing knocking at his door?

Only Prussia and Spain came to visit this late, but it couldn't be them; Prussia didn't knock, he just came in, and Spain was spending too much time with Romano lately to visit him.

"I'm coming" France mumbled, wishing he hadn't given the servants the night off, though they would have had to disturb him anyway if it was anyone important.

The knocking continued right up until France pulled the door open.

He hardly had time to register who it was when they collapsed into him, sobbing onto his shoulder.

"It's not fair!" That angry voice could only belong to one person.

France smiled, giving a sympathetic sigh. Supporting England with one arm he managed to close the door with the other.

"What happened?" This reminded France of the times when the child England had come running to him after being bullied by one of his siblings.

"Scotland's king is to be king of both our countries!" England wailed, sobbing harder onto France's shoulder, losing control over his weight completely- almost falling to the ground.

France manoeuvred him to the sitting room where he sat him down on one of the sofas next to him so he could keep England upright.

He supposed this must have happened because of England's Queen dying without an heir, leaving only her cousin the king of Scotland to take over.

"I'm sure everything will be fine..." France hugged England comfortingly, burring his hands in England's messy blond hair, breathing in the wonderful scent of seawater and moss, all mixed in with what smelt a little like him- that France guessed must have come with the Normans.

"You always do that..." He heard England sniff,

"What?" France stopped inhaling, pulling away (still clutching England's shoulders) so they could look at each other properly.

"You sniff me..." There was a small tone of amusement in England's miserable tone.

France felt himself blush, hoping England's vision was too blurred with tears to see his reddening in his face.

"I want to remember your visits" he admitted, truthfully, "you spend so much time with America that you hardly ever come to see me any more..."

He could make out a regretful look appearing on England's face.

"I can pretend to be something I'm not around him..." England bent closer to France, resting his head on the other's shoulder, so their necks brushed together, hair tickling the sides of their faces.

"I understand" France whispered, closing his eyes softly.

Of course America would have no way of knowing what sort of atrocities went on in this part of the world, and Arthur probably hadn't told him. Every nation liked to get away from it all once in a while, and for England it must be hard being on a small island, only sharing borders with brothers who didn't like him.

He rested his arms around England's back; he didn't want the moment to end.

France hadn't ever realised before, how much he actually craved for England.

The painting he still had under his bed wasn't the same as actually being able to hold a dependent England in his arms again.

"Séjourner" _Stay_ France breathed, knowing England wouldn't understand him, and probably wasn't listening anyway.

"Je ne peux pas" _I can't _England's French was beautiful as it played over France's ears. When had England learned his language? Especially when he didn't even need to know it?

He felt England shift away from him. Reluctantly France knew he had to let him go.

"I'll try and visit more often" England promised,

"I'm sure everything will be fine" France rose to kiss England on both cheeks, possibly hesitating a little longer than he was meant to.

England returned the gesture by shaking hands with him, smiling; France knew even England found it funny how distantly his people and himself greeted people in comparison with many of the other Europeans.

"Safe journey" France tapped his head, before he let England leave the house, "...stay out of trouble."


	36. Chapter 31

"Why have you taken me here!" Romano folded his arms sulkily. Spain had told him that he was taking him somewhere special today, though why the town centre was special Romano wasn't sure.

There were also a lot of people around, all dressed up. Romano felt a little out of place in his plain clothes, why hadn't Spain told him to wear something fancy.

"Come on," Spain took his hand, dragging him to where some people were sitting, forming a large square around the space between them.

"Let's go and watch!" Romano watched as the crowd parted to let them take some of the front places.

A band was playing cheery Spanish music while people were dancing around in the middle of the square, while people clapped and cheered.

"Dancing Romano!" Spain's eyes were shining as he watched the dancers go through their various steps. Romano found himself wondering if he could give it a go, but he didn't want people to look at him if he got it wrong, so he stayed where he was, imagining what he'd do if he could.

"Mr Spain, you come and show us!" A woman was pulling Spain from the audience, jerking Romano from his daydreams.

"You can't dance!" He hissed at Spain, feeling himself growing hot with embarrassment. What if Spain messed up, then every one would start laughing at him!

"I'll be fine Romano" Spain gave him a beaming smile.

Romano realised he'd never actually seen Spain dancing before, he hoped it wouldn't be too bad...

The music started up, this time it was louder, full of blinding passion as though Spain himself was dictating it.

The crowd watched their nation dance with the same attention they had paid to the other dancers, but Romano saw something new.

The other dancers had been dancing joyfully, in celebration...

As Spain danced it seemed like his eyes had turned a darker shade of green, his smile gone in his concentration. After a while Spain closed his eyes as well.

The passionate dances of Spain that their nation was now pouring his heart into.

It was black.

Spain's demeanour was frightening him.

Anger, madness, fear, and blood led Spain's steps. He'd forgotten those who were watching him. Though every step was perfectly placed, captivating Romano's gaze so he couldn't look away.

"Stop!" Romano managed to spurt out a loud wail, forcing his throat to contract as he spoke.

Spain froze. Eyes flying open- the darkness was fading, a daunting look of horror flashing over his face.

Finding the ability to move again, Romano fled, pushing past people's feet in his hurry to get away.

Spain was one of those stupid, slow, and weak nations! ...Wasn't he?

Where had all that come from? He knew Spain had been involved in wars, most of which were before they knew each other, but he'd never tried to imagine Spain at war before.

"Romano!" He could hear Spain's frantic calls from behind him. He knew it wouldn't take long for Spain to catch him, but he just wanted to be away from him for as long as he could manage.

Then a firm hand on his shoulder brought him to a stop. Had Spain finally caught up with him?

But when he turned he couldn't see anyone; but he could feel their presence...

The hand even took hold of his own, and began leading him away back through the town to where Spain was searching.

"He is a good nation" the voice told him, sounding like a whisper against his ear, "there's no such thing as perfect, remember that Romano..." There was more meaning behind those words than anyone else would realise, but they touched Romano right to the core.

"He's perfect..." Romano murmured, knowing that if the ghost knew about his greatest anger, he'd probably know who Romano was referring to as well. "After all, who'd want me?"

"I do!"

Romano gazed open eyed, down the road that ghost had been leading him.

The ghost's presence had gone, but Romano no longer cared.

Spain's face was streaked with tears, Romano realised his own expression must be quite the same.

"Romano..." Spain rushed towards him, scooping him into his arms, fresh tears spilling from both their eyes, "... I want you Romano, anyone who doesn't see the beauty in you must be blind..."

Spain's words sent waves of kindness running through him.

He remembered the ghost's words _"there's no such thing as perfect" _

Spain wasn't perfect, he wasn't perfect; even if there was such a thing as perfect, neither of them could apply the pressure of such a title.

...Not like his brother...

"_Stupid! Stupid! Brat!" Words of abuse hailed down on him like stones, "Do it! Give the world something back, for allowing you to be born into it!"_

_The knife in his hands was sharpened to the point, it's perfect blade shaped just for its job._

"_Your brother was perfect! Your just a failure!" The words urged him on._

_Trembling he placed the blade against the top of his arm already feeling the sharpness cutting into his skin._

"_Burn in hell!" The curse pressed the blade as if by an invisible force into his flesh, until warm blood fell in steady puddles onto the dirty tiled floor._

_Ignoring his tears, his father urged him on with bitter words, and angry presence. Keeping him cutting until he could no longer hold the knife in a steady hand._

_Only a nation could harm another, or they could harm themselves._

_Then he would be locked in the dark cellar where the rats scuttled, and bit him as he tried to sleep._

"_Worthless shit!" His father would coax through the door, until he was sure his son was asleep._

Spain had been able to take care of him like no other had done before.

* * *

Roma watched carefully from round a corner.

A lord had come to speak to his leader today, and had brought with him his vile son, who had taken it upon himself to charm Ita-Chan.

He knew killing the boy would lead to potential war, but he had to get the boy away from Italy somehow.

"And my father owns a boat" the boy was bragging, shifting himself closer to Italy with every word.

Italy didn't even seem to notice what was going on, she was too preoccupied in her sweeping, to pay too much attention to the boy's advances.

Hit by an idea, Roma stepped out.

He noted regretfully that Italy jumped when he arrived, her whole face trembling.

"Ita-Chan I need you to sweep my room" he ordered, knowing that was a place where you could go only by invite, meaning the other boy couldn't follow.

"Y-Your room?" Italy sounded even more flustered; she hid behind her broom, but nodded, and began retreating in the direction of Roma's room.

Roma followed her, shooting a nasty look at the lord's son as he went by. He couldn't stand people who took advantage of other's vulnerability; especially when they were doing it to Ita-Chan.

He wasn't sure quite what it was that drew him towards Italy so much, or rather he couldn't tell which part of her he loved most.

Her kind nature?

Her good cooking?

Her cuteness?

"Is Holy Roma going to watch me?" Italy blushed, fingering the broom carefully in her small delicate hands.

They had entered the room, and Italy was looking nervously around, as if she was worried he thought she was going to break something.

After all the time they'd spent together over the years, it was hard to believe Italy was still afraid of him.

He'd shown her nothing but kindness; given her the best food, spent time with her, and even protected her from people like the boy he'd lead her away from.

"I just have some work to do" he lied, settling himself at his desk, where he could still watch Italy quite easily, without making it look too obvious.

With all the uneasiness in the empire at the moment though, it was nice to be around the nations were still loyal to him.

"Holy Roma..." Italy spoke after a while, taking Roma completely by surprise, it was unusual for her to start their conversations.

"What is it Ita-Chan?" Roma felt his curiosity beaconing him to listen.

"Will Holy Roma always be there to take care of me?" As she spoke she blushed a delicate pink, framing her soft cheeks like the careful brush an artist may stroke.

Burning with embarrassment, and excitement that Italy may actually return his feelings, Roma bounded off his chair, taking the poor girl by surprise.

"Ita-Chan," he clutched at her hands, holding them to his chest, "I will always be there to take care of you" he insisted, feeling her shy look like a hook.

"Thank you" Italy smiled, pecking him on the cheek, "you're a very kind nation..."

He wanted to kiss her, but that would be something impolite to do, particularity because they were in _his _bedroom.

So he let her finish sweeping then walked her back to her room.

Was war really coming?

Were his people, and those around him really coming to fear him?

Alliances were being formed quickly, that was why that lord had been here earlier on in the day. Would his brother support him?

He knew Prussia had some sort of problem with Austria, but surly that wouldn't damage the loyalty he'd been designed to have.

Austria and Hungary would support him, he'd also had contact of Spain's support, but that left France, England, Prussia, the Ottomans, and Scandinavian countries loose to attack him, and form their own alliances.

Under no circumstances would he allow Italy to fight, just as he knew Spain wouldn't allow Romano to fight.

If there was a war, and he lost... Roma knew full well it could be the end of him.

**1618 – The thirty year war begins**

War had come.

Austria and Roma were both being called up to fight, along with their armies, and Hungary's; Spain was also there to support them.

Hungary herself would stay back at Austria's house to take care of Italy. The battlefield was no place for girls.

England, France, Sweden, and Prussia had formed an alliance against him; all powerful nations he couldn't underestimate. He also had a feeling the Ottoman's would join their side at some point, meaning more trouble for him and his alliances.

"Is it true!" Italy almost knocked into him as he was leaving; her face was tear-stained, and eyes rubbed red. She was clutching at her dress in a panic with one hand, and clutching her brush with the other.

"I've got to go away for a while Italy..." Roma knew this may just be the last time he ever saw Italy, but he couldn't tell her that. ...Not when he was struggling to tell himself.

"But you don't need to go!" Italy begged, dropping her brush to the ground, throwing herself at him, and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Roma couldn't help but hug her back. There were so many things he wanted to say, and so little time.

Around him; his, Austria's, and Hungary's men were kissing their loved ones goodbye, while they wished them safe return with tears.

"I love you..." Italy's voice was so quiet, he wasn't quite sure if he'd heard her right, but she repeated it when he was looking at her; her face turning pink.

"I-Italy..." Roma was at a loss for words, she had told him what he'd only ever imagined she'd do in his fantasies.

Leaning forwards, he kissed her.

Innocently feeling the warmth of the other's lips.

"I want you to have this..." Italy moved away from him, tugging at something under her dress, before producing a pair of white panties, handing them to him. "You'll come back" she insisted, pressing her face into his shoulder, crying softly.

"I'll try," he breathed in her scent, hearing the call of his generals, "I'll try for you Italy" he promised, tucking the panties into his bag, turning away- waving over his shoulder until he was out of sight.

"Holy Roma..." Italy's tears fell thick in puddles to the ground.

"Come inside Italy" Hungary whispered, taking his hand; he could feel her own sadness, from this moment on life would never be the same again... He had to grow for Holy Roma so he could help him. He only hoped he wouldn't be too late.


	37. Chapter 32

**1630 – Ukraine's uprising against Poland and Lithuania**

Europe had again been thrown into war.

The western countries had lost themselves in another seemingly endless war. While Lithuania and Poland's own empire was beginning to rebel.

Ukraine, one of Lithuania's first nations in the empire was fighting back against them, driving them slowly back out of her country.

She was closely respected as one of the oldest nations in apperance, reaching an adult age of twenty that very few had gotten to.

Poland and Lithuania both remained fifteen, an age they had been contempt with when everything was peaceful, giving them time to play and run through their fields.

But if Ukraine was fighting back, they knew many more would follow.

**1642 - 3rd English civil war between King Charles I and Parliament**

"I can't..." England felt torn as he looked on at his allies painfully. He wanted to continue to fight with them, but with the dangers of a war within his own country...

"We understand," it was France who spoke first after England's explanation.

The Scandinavian nations were exchanging nodding glances, and Prussia mealy shrugged. "Don't worry England we'll be able to handle the rest of the enemy ourselves" he dismissed, giving England a cheeky grin.

Smiling thankfully England turned to leave the room, he didn't want to have to do this, but he wanted to be sure of staying in control if he had another civil war. But this was more than just another civil war between people competing to lead, if parliament were to succeed it would be a revolution.

"Wait!" England turned, he was in the hall- almost at the door, when France sped out of the war room after him.

"England..." France fixed him with a powerful look, but England could see worry and fear in his gaze too. He must be thinking of what became of England during his last few civil wars. "You will stay in focus, won't you?"

England brushed him off, with a smug that showed more confidence than he felt.

"Of course I will stupid frog" he grinned, letting France press his face into his hair, breathing in deeply.

He laughed, letting France finish what he was doing before moving for his coat. It would be a nice memory to remember while his country tried to tear each other apart again.

"I'll see you again" he insisted, punching France's shoulder in a playful way, "I mean, imagine if I vanished, what would become of my huge empire," he smirked, copying France's actions, by standing on tip toe to sniff France's hair.

A soft sent of roses and perfume dressed his senses.

He always wondered why France bothered smelling him when he smelt fine on his own. Who wanted to stink of sea water after all?

"I could always take them if you did vanish" France joked, helping England on with his jacket,

"not on my life!" England spun round in his coat, joy in his eyes that France had loved looking at the last half a century or so.

Then the door opened, and England was gone.

* * *

Italy tried to straighten his back as Hungary marked his height on the wall. He hoped he'd grown since she'd last done it. He noticed with satisfaction that she had to lean upwards to mark his height.

She'd assured him he was about fifteen now, almost old enough to help with the war effort.

They both knew that if Italy did indeed go and help then his gender would no longer be able to be kept a secret between them.

Slowly Italy had begun wearing boy's clothes again- hand downs from Austria. They were a little too big for him, giving the impression sometimes that he was wearing a dress when in fact it was just that his shirt came down to his knees.

Hungary said he still looked cute though, he hadn't lost the child like look about him, which may pass him for younger than he actually was.

He didn't miss her yawn as she pulled away to let him see where her latest mark on the wall had been made.

It was coming up to about ten at night, so Italy supposed they'd better be getting to bed.

He wished Hungary goodnight before retreating to his own room.

_Italy pushed his way through the choking number of bodies. His feet seemed to know where they were taking him, even if his mind didn't._

"_Holy Roma!" He called out, searching through the dead and wounded men, he had to find the other nation._

_Then he saw him._

_Roma was lying perfectly still in a pool of blood, blue eyes staring blankly at the dark sky. Pale hands still clutching the sword he'd fought with._

_Dead!_

Italy woke up with a start.

Thunder and lightning cracked outside his bedroom window, accompanying the rain that streamed down in an endless flow.

He could hear something else as well, like someone was walking around the house.

Hungary was in bed...

So who was walking around?

With a jump as another fork of lightning rented the air, Italy flew from bed, pulling on one of his oversized T-shirts.

He opened his bedroom door a crack, peering round the dark hallway.

Hearing a door click down the corridor, he flashed his gaze in that direction, but the door was already being closed.

The door to Holy Roma's room!

Was someone trying to steal his things! Trying to take advantage of him!

Feeling a strange anger, Italy left his room, moving quickly down the hallway to Holy Roma's room.

Pushing open the door uncertaintly.

No sooner had he done so, a hand grabbed him, hurling him to the ground; they pinned his hands to the ground, pressing him to the wooden floor.

A set of angry blue eyes were burning down at him, under a thick collection of blond hair.

Italy quivered under the pressure of the other boy over him. He had to be at least seventeen, and another nation by the look of it.

Was he one of Holy Roma's enemies?

"What are you doing here!" The boy demanded, giving Italy a small shake- that knocked the back of Italy's head against the wooden floor.

"I-I could ask you the same thing?" Italy made an effort to sound brave, but it died in his throat, coming out as more of a whimper.

"It is my room!" The boy growled, "did you come here to harm Ita-Chan or Miss Hungary!" He continued, shaking Italy again.

"Holy Roma!" Italy's eyes bulged, how had the boy who had left him grown so tall?

The boy stared hard at Italy's face, a dawn of realisation hitting him.

"I-Ita-Chan?" He stammered, "s-sorry, you just looked so much like a boy, I didn't recognise you. ...I mean..." He tried to correct himself, "I mean just in this light..."

He got off Italy, then noticed she was crying, shaking her head at him like she was struggling for something to say.

She had grown older too. He had just been expecting... Well breasts to be perfectly honest, but maybe she was just a late developer...

"R-Roma..." She shook uncontrollably, tugging at the long shirt she was wearing like she'd always done with her dresses.

"I can't stay long Ita" he told her, "I have to be gone tommorow morning, I just came back here for something..."

"I'M A BOY!" Italy almost shouted, throwing himself to the floor in despair, "first I didn't tell you because I thought you'd kill me, but then I thought if you knew I wasn't a-a girl you wouldn't l-like me..." Italy hiccuped through the sentence, voice muffled by the ground.

Meanwhile all Roma could feel was shock.

It wasn't possible, this couldn't be Ita-Chan!

But there was that strange curl on his head, soft meaningful brown eyes, and delicate frame- so like that of a girl's.

"...A boy?" Roma spoke slowly, letting knowledge sink in. He'd been in love with a _boy _all this time, he'd kissed a _boy_, made all these promises to a _boy_.

Italy raised his gaze from the floor, tears swimming in his vision.

"Does Holy Roma hate me now?" He whispered, tears falling harder as he got to his feet, "I'd better be going back to my room..."

A flash of lightning illuminated the room for a moment, giving Roma a clear vision of Italy's face. Even with this new knowledge it still made his heart fly, he still was the vision of perfectness, and beauty.

Before Italy could get to the door, Roma seized him, pulling him down onto his bed, forcing Italy into his pillow with a deep kiss, all the innocence they had once shared gone.

Italy's mouth was open in shock, giving him free access to explore the Italian's mouth with his tongue.

He felt a gasp escape Italy's lips, driving him on only further.

Feeling Italy's arousal against his leg made his own stiffen.

Pressing hard against Italy's waist, he moved his kissed down from Italy's mouth to his neck, then onwards down his chest, undoing the buttons of the shirt as he went; leaving small red marks where his mouth had been sucking and licking at the pale skin.

"Roma~" Italy gave a small cry, hands and body moving to hide his lower half in embarrassment. But Roma continued, prising Italy's hands gently from their position, so his tongue could fleck over Italy's member.

He heard another wail from Italy.

Realising he wanted to try something, Roma came back up to kiss Italy's mouth, taking the strange curl in his grip. Spain had mentioned something about the curl on Romano's head, he wondered if the same applied for the younger brother?

"Roma!~" Italy shivered, grasping at Roma's shoulders to steady himself while his arousal seemed to give a violent lurch.

Deciding he should do something about his own, Roma threw his own shirt aside, casting his trousers aside carelessly.

"W-Will it hurt?" Italy whimpered, sitting up slowly, to examine Roma's own aroused member with some curiosity.

"Maybe a little..." Roma sat Italy on his lap, taking one of his fingers and inserting it in Italy's behind, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Italy gave a cry of pain that Roma covered with a kiss, pulling Italy's bare chest closer to his own, flicking a second finger in the join the first- trying to make as much room as possible so Italy would enjoy the actual sex.

Italy gave another pained sound as Roma brushed against his prostate, he began lacing the older boy's face with kisses, only moaning slightly when the third and final finger was inserted.

Roma pulled his fingers back slowly.

Moving Italy around on his lap until he made contact.

With a rocking motion he thrust into Italy with all his strength.

An orgasmic wail emitted from the Italian. It was strange all the noise hadn't brought Hungary running- they were definitely making enough of it.

"I love you," Roma ran his tongue along Italy's nipples, pinching them with his fingers so they glowed red while he thrusted.

"M-More!~" Italy cried, moving with Roma's movements, coming down to meet his thrusts even without his leading hands.

"I can't hold on much longer~" Roma gave a stiff grunt, trying to hold back just a little longer.

"It's okay" Italy whispered. He gasped loudly when Roma released inside of him. The white cum spilling around their thighs.

Both fell into the bed together; their limbs tangled in the covers.

Carefully Roma untwisted the duvet, pulling it over him and Italy.

He knew what was going to happen to him, he didn't have much longer left, but he was glad he could spend this moment with Italy.

"What ever happens..." He leant forwards to mutter in Italy's half-asleep ear, "I will always love you."


	38. Ages 5

Greece – 12

Turkey – 20

France – 19

Spain – 18

Italy – 15

Romano – 9

Austria – 17

Japan – 18

England – 17

Ukraine – 20

Belarus – 13

Russia – 12

Denmark – 16

Norway – 15

Prussia – 17

HRE – 17

Hungary – 16

Poland – 15

Lithuania – 15

Switzerland – 14

Taiwan – 18

Korea – 16

America – 5


	39. Chapter 33

**1648 – The end of the thirty year war, Spain takes Austria, Franco-Spanish war continues, Ukraine pulls away from Polish rule**

Blood spilled all around him.

France let out a gasp of energy, he was probably the only one still alive on the field. But the war was over, treaties had been signed, and one of the nations had disappeared.

What was he going to tell Italy!

It had been his battle when Holy Roman Empire had vanished. Apart from Prussia hanging around behind the lines, it had been his men fighting.

A horrible swelling was rising in his chest. Had he killed Holy Roma?

Covering his face with his hands, all he could do was shake; though no tears came. The blood on his hands died his skin and and hair deep red, taunting him for what he'd done.

"Roma!" France leapt to his feet, desperately searching the bodies on the ground, but he couldn't find him alive or not.

Had the body fallen fallen into a river, or worse; had it been torn beyond recognition.

"Roma where are you!" He shouted, knowing full well the Holy Roman Empire would not reply.

This wasn't what this war had been about. He'd never wanted Holy Roma dead, this was another stupid religious war!

There was so much war, everywhere!

England had vanished amongst the people of his own country when another civil war had broken out, this time it was leaning on revolution.

The countries in the east where fighting back against Poland and Lithuania, while it seemed like Russia was biding his time.

France had only seen Russia once, but as far as he was concerned it was enough. If any nations ever fell under the power of that boy, it could mean danger for all of them.

It was Prussia who came to stop his search.

The other nation placed his hand his hand on France's shoulder, lifting him to his feet.

If France had been in a better frame of mind he might have noticed Prussia looked older; his usual cheeky apperance more mature, his eyes underlined with black shadows, showing his restless lack of sleep.

"Leave it France," he lead the blond nation away, supporting him against his shoulder, while France cried onto his shoulder.

"How am I going to tell Italy?" It wasn't hidden knowledge that the two nations had loved each other. Italy's beautiful smiling face, what would it do to him?

Had France caused the loss of sanity in the only level headed nation left in Europe- except perhaps Austria; but even he had understanding of pain, and wars. Would Italy ever understand?

"Just tell him the truth..." Prussia's voice cracked as he spoke, not meeting France's gaze, "tell him what happened."

"But I don't know what happened!" France gave a pained cry, tugging at the ribbon in his hair with frustration, "I don't know!" He repeated, voice splitting with the effort not to lose control.

"What do you know?" Prussia spoke again with the same distant voice, eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

France remembered Holy Roma had been Prussia's younger brother, did his friend hate him now? Was that why he wouldn't look him in the eye?

"I just know that Holy Roman Empire had vanished from the map..."

"Then tell him Roma has disappeared" Prussia nodded.

They had almost reached the nearest allied camp, belonging to the Scandinavian Sweden.

A boy of seventeen in appearance, and none of the western European nations were quite sure how old he was really.

He kept himself to himself, and was beginning to rise up as quite a powerful nation, with the beginnings of an empire- bordering dangerously close to Russia's borders.

"What's wr'ng with 'im?" Sweden came forward to meet them, finishing up the packing up of his camp to help Prussia support France to a place he could lie down.

"The Holy Roman Empire's gone" France told him quietly, going pale like he was about to be sick; which he was a few moments later- narrowly missing Prussia's boots.

Sweden just gave a small nod, steadying France against one of the crates, while he fetched him something to drink.

"How's England?" France sounded dizzy, his voice slurring. The question seemed a little strange at the moment, but Prussia replied naturally.

"The king's loosing, we could end up with a country in anarchy across your shores; but I hear parliament want to take over..."

"Silly kid," France gave a small smile, eyes closing as he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

Ukraine watched her men yelling abuse at the retreating Polish-Lithuanian soldiers. She was free of their rule, after all these years.

The western nations had settled too, it seemed like war was coming to an end, maybe they could all exist peacefully now.

Now only Belarus had to pull free of the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth then they could all meet up with Russia again.

**1649 – Charles I beheaded by the people of England and Scotland**

England stood alongside his brothers; Scotland and Wales, they stood in the crowd looking up at where the king was lowering his head on the block.

"Public execution..." Wales sounded sick, turning his head away and closing his eyes,

"This can't be right," Scotland agreed.

England just watched on silently.

He wasn't sure what to think. The king had been a tyrant and it was right to remove him from the throne, but then to hand everything over to this Oliver Cromwell, was that right?

Oliver Cromwell had been head of the new army, and assisted General Fairfax in overthrowing the king. Now he seemed to have placed himself at the head of parliament.

He hoped it would be enough to please the people, but he knew it never would.

However civilised they tried to behave, it could not be denied that the blood of the Vikings, and warlike Norman's ran in their veins, and it was only at times like this you could see it.

"Kill him!" People screamed, readying their tissues and clothes to catch the king's blood that would fall down onto the people bellow.

The axe was lifted. England copied Wales, closing his eyes and turning away.

**1653 – Peasant revolt in Switzerland**

Safe in the palace Switzerland looked down at the crowded mass of people bellow the walls. Some were attempting to climb the walls to get into the palace grounds.

Switzerland could see soldiers on the other side of the stone fortress, ready the finish of anyone who tried to land.

"They're starving" Switzerland spoke, turning away from the window to look at his leader in the eye, "they're only doing this because we're not taking care of them properly."

The king quite simply shrugged, he didn't care.

They were peasants, easily replaceable, they were dying and being born as a fact of life, what they thought didn't matter.

"We can't continue like this!" Switzerland tried to call his leader to sense, "even if they stop and go away now, they'll be back!"

Again he was ignored.

"Don't you see this may not just be a revolt, we could end up with another civil war on our hands!" Why wouldn't the man listen to him!

It wasn't like he was of an age where boys would usually be ignored. He was sixteen in appearance, that should be enough to make the king listen to him.

The leader motioned to one of his servants.

"This boy is getting over excitable, take him to his room till he's calmed down." His leader was treating him like a child!

"You can't send me to my room to be quiet!" He yelled, "I am your nation, you should be listening to me!"

The leader narrowed his eyes, motioning his servants, and company from the room. When they were gone he motioned Switzerland towards him.

Cautiously Switzerland obeyed, bowing as he approached.

The king seized a clump of his hair, tugging with all his might, ignoring Switzerland yell of pain.

"And I am your king, does that count for nothing!" He rose from his throne, hurling Switzerland to the ground, where he drew his sword, stabbing down on Switzerland leg, twisting it to be sure it went the whole way through.

"Nation or not" the leader smirked, "your not going anywhere for quite some time."

**1657 – Sweden attacks Poland and Lithuania, Swedish-Ukrainean alliance, plague kills half of Vilnius (Lithuania's capital)**

"They need to be taught a lesson" Ukraine nodded, as she took the pen from Sweden to sign the treaty, "we all need out independence, and you seem to be making an impact."

The boy who always seemed to be with Sweden tugged at Sweden's arm as he bent down to sign.

"I want to fight" the boy begged. Ukraine supposed he must be about fifteen- a little too young to be signing up for war.

"Not yet Fin, yer too y'ung," the tenderness in Sweden's eyes took Ukraine by surprise. He had both eyes fixed gently on the boy's head, running one hand lovingly through his hair.

He turned to see Ukraine staring at him.

"This is F'nland, p'rt of m' 'mpire, 'm taking care of 'im till 'e can take care of 'imself," Sweden placed a soft kiss on top of Finland's head, shooing him from the room.

When she thought about it Finland and Sweden were only two years apart in age, it was just Finland's young look, and Sweden's more mature one that made the image seem strange.

Every nation wanted someone to love them.

But the love Ukraine wanted, was the love of her brother and sister that had been taken away from her so long ago.

* * *

"How is he!" Poland almost pushed by the doctor to get at Lithuania's room. He wanted to see his lover, it was unbearable being away from him.

It only seemed like days ago that Lithuania had woken up complaining of feeling ill before collapsing in the rye fields at midday.

The plague had come to Vilnius and the nation was suffering along with his people.

"Why can't I see him!" Poland demanded, hearing Lithuania's screams of agony coming from inside the room.

"We can't risk the plague reaching Poland as well" the doctor explained calmly, "remember you're nations, your friend will get better when the plague in Vilnius settles down."

"How long will that take!" Poland demanded. Lithuania had stopped screaming, but the horrid coughing sound was just as bad.

"I can't say" the doctor shrugged, "but until it has you must not go near him," now his voice was firm, "he must stay in his room, it is best you don't feed him, purely because he can survive without food, and it will lower chances of infection..."

Poland listened to the doctor continuing to tell him what he couldn't do while Lithuania was like this, and Poland listened quietly, his heart throbbing.

What were they to do about Sweden and Ukraine that were still coming down heavily on them from all sides.

They'd already lost any control they had over Prussia, now the monster like nation was free to rampage over their land again.

It was too difficult to do alone...

He hoped Lithuania wouldn't be sick for too long. They both needed each other, even if the empire fell apart, they needed each other.


	40. Chapter 34

**1660 – Charles II returns to become king after Oliver Cromwell dies**

The people welcomed the new king back with the same emotion that they had once wished the king's father dead.

"God save the king" they all cried, as he was paraded before them, flowers being thrown at his feet.

Although Parliament still had more control, there was still another king back on the throne, with the people's support reinstated.

England had even brought America to watch the coronation.

At first England had been reluctant, he was afraid of his people's behaviour, he didn't want America to think badly of his people, but luckily enough they were all on their best behaviour.

"What's a king?" America tugged at England's sleeve, pointing at the grand man in his carriage with interest.

"He used to be a man who ruled the country" England replied, lifting America onto his shoulders for a better look, "but now he is just a figure head that offers the people hope."

"Should I get one?" America asked, waving at the king like the other people were doing, "it feels nice to wave at him,"

England laughed, shaking his head only slightly to make sure he didn't unseat the tiny nation on his shoulders.

"No way, Kings are way too complicated America, you're better off without them." He heard America laughing too.

It was nice to be around such a cheerful nation all the time, he was beginning to understand why all the nations in the rest of Europe had fought so hard for Italy.

The northern nation of Italy was rumoured to be one of the sweetest nations to come across, with a gentle and caring personality; England hoped America could grow up like that too.

**1665 – Plague hits London**

He let out another wail; eyes watering, and blood forcing its way up his throat.

The relief that he had sent America home before this was the only thing that soothed his burning head.

The outbreak of plague had come out of nowhere, but before he knew it people had been dropping dead all around him.

He had been moved to a room in a far corner of the palace where he couldn't spread the plague to any of the healthy people still in the palace.

It seemed like he was the only nation still living with his country's royalty, all the other nations had moved to their own homes.

Another violent seizure of coughing took him. Blood splattering the sheets by his mouth.

But the disease seemed to be softening.

Was it at last going away?

There was a soft knock on his door. Remembering his orders England managed to croak back, "Don't come in."

But whoever it was, obviously didn't care, because they pushed the door open before he'd even finished speaking.

"Who is it?" Fighting against his watery eyes England tried to sit up, only to collapse again into bed, even more pain tearing over him.

"You are in a bad way L'Angleterre..." a rich voice sighed, full of kindness and sympathy.

"F-France?" Struggling even more, England tried to sit up, but only to have the same result, "you'll get the plague too, if you stay..."

"I'll get it at home too, your country isn't the only one suffering..." France's cool hand lay on his forehead, testing his temperature, but it was enough for England just to be able to see his blurred outline, peering over him.

"When did you last eat?" France ran his fingers along England's bony cheeks, sadness now in his tone. England knew even if someone would come close enough to feed him, there was no point anyway, because his throat was too weak to swallow.

"About six months I think" England replied, bending against France's touch. Everything suddenly felt a lot better when he was here. "I hope America doesn't think I'm neglecting him..."

"Don't worry, I went to see him" France admitted, "I told him you were very busy at the moment and couldn't see him for a bit."

England's heart warmed even more. He felt that if France stayed with him for a few days he would be back to a peak of health in no time.

"I hate seeing you like this" France murmured, pressing a rag of cool water to England's forehead.

"How are you?" England smiled weakly, he didn't want to hear about how sick he looked.

For the last hundred years or so he'd been cut off from the rest of Europe, he wanted to know what else was going on.

He felt France pause. Guessing what it was he nodded slowly, "I heard about Holy Roma, you don't need to tell me about that."

The Frenchman relaxed again.

"Me and Spain aren't on the best of terms at the moment... And Prussia has kept himself to himself ever since the war. Italy's moved into my house for the time being, and Spain has control of Austria and Romano..."

England realised that France had been just as isolated as him in the last few years, not even his friends had come to see him. Though England was glad France had Italy's company.

**1666 – The Great Fire of London**

Just as England had predicted, he'd gotten better under France's care, though that wasn't to say the plague had completely gone; but it was slowly disappearing.

His people were in a small panic at the moment because of the year's title ending in 666, but England and France had lived through enough end of the world scares to get too worked up about it.

France had been staying with him in the palace for the last few months to help England with his nation duties while he was still weak.

"Leave something for me to do frog!" England huffed, watching France sorting through the documents on England's desk, while he was still stuck in bed.

"Oui, Oui" France smirked, taking some of the documents with him, along with a pen.

He lay himself softly next to England, handing him the documents, "I need you anyway, I can't forge your messy signature," he pressed the pen into England's hand, leaving his other hand over the Brit's trembling arm, to steady it while England wrote.

When he felt England could carry on without his support, France propped himself up against the back board of the bed, letting England rest his head on his knee.

They stayed in peaceful silence, with only the sound of England's scratching pen to disturb them.

"Fire!" Both nation jumped from their thoughts, as the door was thrown open.

A man waved quickly to them, before rushing to the next door.

France had forced England out of the palace, and into a reasonable sized house closer to St Paul's cathedral, closer to the new centre of London, near the newly built bridge.

"A fire!" England dropped the pen, and documents, trying to jump to his feet; but he stumbled awkwardly, muscles still weak from the malnutrition he'd suffered while he'd been ill with the plague.

"Shit!" France cursed, leaping out of bed to steady England against his side.

"Where do we go?" England let out a small sound of panic,

"Over the bridge," France thought quickly, "the fire can't follow us over water."

Quickly, knowing they needed a long head start on the fire France helped England to the door.

"Wait!" England suddenly tried to fly away from him, "I need to get something!"

"Are you stupid!" France jerked him back, "we need to go, now!"

He almost had force England from the house out into the street.

The wind was blowing strongly in their direction, and he could already see flames in the distance.

Fire!

The sight of the flames glued France to the ground, triggering the buried memory he kept so close to his heart.

He didn't even notice England slip away from him, and struggle back into the house for the item he'd been desperately trying to grab hold of.

He returned snapping France back to reality.

"Are we going?" He gave the older nation a small shove in the direction of the bridge, the scent of smoke was reaching them now.

When France still didn't move England hit him. Hard enough to hurt, but not too much.

"What!" France snapped, fixing a fierce gaze on England, like he'd completely forgotten why they were standing outside the house in the middle of the night.

"There's a fire remember!" England gave him another shove, but his own muscles had given in again, and he almost fell to the ground.

"Oh right!" France caught England before he hit the floor, hurrying with the other nation at his side in the direction England had been pointing.

He could see they were not the only ones who had decided to head for the river. Whole trains of people were hurrying in that direction.

"We're almost there," France clutched at England's limp form. He wasn't sure they'd be able to outrun the fast moving flames.

"I can do it" England mumbled, fighting to return the strength to his legs. He managed a good pace to the bridge, before he gave way again, but France could help him the last few paces over the bridge; also a few people assisted them over the last stretch.

When they were finally across the bridge France let himself and England collapse against one of the posts at the end of the bridge.

Many other people had fallen to the ground with exhaustion and shock. A few women and children had fainted and were being cared for by their still conscious family members.

"Well done..." France pressed his face to England's exhausted one.

He too was feeling faint, but forced himself to stay alert in case the fire did manage to get across the bridge.

**1672 – France takes Canada**

"Hey, look what I found!" England had settled in America's house for a bit, to make up for the time he'd been away around the time of the fire and plague.

"England someone's at the door," America called from the front hall, "he looks familiar, but I can't remember his name."

Sighing, and folding his paper, England wondered to the front hall to see who America had answered the door to at this time of night.

France stood in the doorway looking proud of himself, a small bundle in his arms.

"You'd better come in" England shook his head, knowing France would settle for no less.

America was staring curiously up at the bundle trying to climb up England's arm for a better look, which was all the more reason to invite France in, so America wouldn't start bothering him constantly about what the bundle was; that, and he wanted to know himself.

France moved to the sitting room, sitting down on one of the sofas, showing England and America what he was carrying.

The eight year old American gave a small cry of joy when he saw what was sleeping in France's arms.

"Look England, a new nation!" He almost shouted, "can he stay with us!"

The two older nations hushed him, eyes on the child that had just opened his soft violet eyes to look round at all of them.

"How old do you think he is?" England spoke softly, sitting next to France, while pulling America onto his lap to keep him quiet.

"Five I reckon" France shrugged, "he's just rather small for his age; I found him just north of America's territory..."

"See, he should live with us!" America jumped up again, elbowing England in the chest, to clamber onto France's lap instead- upsetting everyone who was sitting on the sofa.

"America, calm down!" England scolded, feeling winded by America's powerful elbowing; sometimes that child didn't know his own strength.

"He's my nation" France told America, giving England a slow look, "but if I could stay here too, then it would be fine."

England narrowed his eyes.

It wasn't that he didn't like France, but this place was his sanctuary, with another European nation it frightened him who else might come.

But America was staring at him with pleading eyes.

"Please, please!" He begged, hugging the little nation on France's lap tightly, "I'm sure they won't be any trouble..."

"Maybe not him..." England nodded at the child, "but you..."

"I'll behave myself" France smirked, "besides we won't both be able to stay here all the time, and even if we're both away they won't be lonely on their own."

England suddenly realised France had done this for him as well as himself. He knew how much pressure and guilt England felt when he was away from America for too long.

"Okay" England nodded, "what's the child's name?"

"Matthew!" America announced, being hushed again by England and France.

"I meant nation name..." England lifted America off France, to give the older nation more space to breath.

"Canada" France smiled, kissing the boy's head, "he's really cute right?"

"Really cute!" America agreed, "I'll let him sleep in my room."

Laughing France followed America to his room, so the two child nations could settle down for a proper sleep.

England waited for his return.

There were things they had to discuss if they were living under the same roof here, some of which he didn't want the boys to hear.

When France returned he knew the older nation was ready for whatever the eighteen year old England might throw at him.

"If we're going to do this I have a few points..." England began, "first point is that neither of us start war on the other; the next is if you want to get up to what I know you do with half the population of France, you do it in France, not here; also you can have a separate room, and are not to come into mine,"

"what if I'm invited?" France asked cheekily,

"You won't be" England assured him dryly, "do I have your agreement?"

"Okay" France nodded, "be sure to tell me any other 'points' you come up with, but first you can show me to my room."


	41. Chapter 35

**1682 – Russio-Turkish rivalry**

The seventeen year old young man waited on the edge of his border, standing at the agreed meeting place.

He had already taken over Ukraine, and had intentions for the other surrounding countries, there was just one other nation that stood in his way.

Turkey strolled lazily towards him over the hill sides separating the border between the Ottoman Empire and Russia.

"You wanted something?" He asked, looking down at the younger, pale, sickly looking man. Russia's cheeks were thin, his frame delicate and small, but his eyes burned with life.

"I wanted to give you a warning" Russia shrugged, "this will one day be my land, I'm giving you a chance to clear off."

Turkey let out an amused splutter, "_you _take _my _land?" The idea seemed laughable to him, "haven't you already got enough your not in control of?"

"Maybe" Russia nodded, "but that won't stop me taking what you've got, if not now, then one day..." Russia licked his lips, "when you hear the news that the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth has fallen, remember my warning."

With his speech finished, Russia turned, running back through the snow until he had vanished from sight.

"Yeah right" Turkey shrugged, turning to go as well.

Though part of him hoped the Russian wasn't serious, after all Egypt and Greece back at his house were causing just about as much trouble as he could bare.

* * *

"Romano please help" Spain knocked on the fifteen year old boy's bedroom door.

It was the harvesting season, and Romano who usually came to help, had decided he'd rather shut himself away this year, and leave Spain to do all the work.

"I can't do it on my own" he begged, "you can keep a basket if you help..." He tried to bribe the normally greedy boy. But it was to no avail.

"Pick the stupid things yourself bastard!" Romano snapped; it sounded like he'd just thrown something heavy against the door.

Sighing, Spain flicked a spare key from his pocket; unlocking the door between them.

Instantly he found a book hurled at his head, knocking him almost back out of the room.

"Romano!" Spain let out an exclamation of shock, raising his hand to his head, feeling a wavering of blood.

When he looked up he did see a flash of guilt, though he knew the Southern Italian would never apologise.

"Can I come in?" Spain gave him a smile to show he was forgiven, though his head still hurt like hell. He couldn't stay mad at Romano for long.

"I just had a bad dream..." Romano muttered, sitting on his bed, leaving a space for Spain to sit next to him.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Spain sat next to him, expecting Romano to snap at him for his offer, but he only nodded, looking at his lap.

"I've had this dream even since I was living with my father, Italy says he's had the same one..." He looked embarrassed, like Spain might think there was something wrong with him.

"Go on" Spain encouraged.

"It's like I'm approaching this sort of camp on the road... There's this woman crying out, and a man holding her hand... This boy of about twelve or something is stood near them watching..." Romano paused, not registering the brief look of shock that passed over Spain's face.

"You were saying..." Spain pressed, clenching one fist on the side of his lap that Romano couldn't see.

"Then this child is born... I know it's me, but there's another one coming, so I'm thrust into the boy's arms while Italy is being born..." Romano closed his eyes, "that boy's face is so clear in my dreams, but when I wake up I can't remember it..." He stopped, biting his lower lip, contemplating how to continue.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to" Spain patted his head, trying to cover up the fact that he was too afraid to hear it.

"I want to" Romano insisted with such a certainty that Spain had to sit down again. "The boy named me, the name my father always wanted me to forget... He hated it, said it came from a dirty person. My brother was born, both my parents cradled him... This is when Italy starts dreaming, but I see it all. I see my mother die after naming him, then he is carried away by R-Rome!" Romano spat the name of his grandfather.

"_Who'd want that?" _They were the words ringing in both Spain and Romano's minds, though they went unspoken.

"Then my father threatens the boy who's holding me. The boy wants to keep me, but he doesn't feel he could take me away from my father... I wish he had..." Realising he had said too much Romano stopped, shaking his head.

"Your father?" Spain clutched his single fist tighter, keeping the encouraging look on his face with its usual smile. Small drops of blood were appearing where he was digging in his nails.

"I don't want to talk about him" Romano spoke firmly, shooting Spain a warning glare.

That was the second time in his life he saw that shadow spread over Spain's face. It was over faster than the last time he saw it when he was much younger, but now he saw it for what it really was.

Anger. Anger, in the purest kind.

Addled with hatred.

"You don't have to help," Spain got up quickly, smiling widely, "I'll bring you back two baskets anyway," with that Spain left the room- possibly a little too fast.

* * *

"Read more!" America pressed his dirty fingers on the pages of the book, so unlike Canada who just sat patiently beside France on the sofa.

France had been reading them a story before bedtime, but he didn't know quite how much more he could manage.

He was rubbish at getting the kids to bed. England was always a lot better than him at that.

"Shouldn't you kids be getting to bed..." England appeared from the kitchen. France knew he'd been trying to learn how to cook, but the poor nation still struggled.

"One more chapter!" America pressed his fingers on the book again, smudging the words with mud.

"No" England told him firmly, "and you can wash your hands before going to bed."

America gave him a sulky look, storming off behind Canada in the direction of the bathroom.

France laughed softly to himself, only just fighting to keep it under control when England spun round with a 'what?' expression all over his face.

"What's so funny?" England blinked, his face flushing, just in case he'd done something to embarrass himself.

"The terror of the seas, the spoilt brat, bad tempered, violent nation just sends children to bed like that," France clicked his fingers, still smiling.

England crossed his arms, "well I'm the one who's usually here, no need to ask you where you are!" He snapped, crossly, folding his arms.

"Jealous are we?" France smirked, scooting over so England could sit beside him on the sofa.

"No!" England growled, but he did sit down next to him, resting his head on France's shoulder like he'd always done when they'd had an exhausting day with the two children.

Today America had found a clogged up river, full to the brim with mud and decided to go swimming in it- in his clothes.

He'd then jumped at Canada when the younger boy came to tell France and England, getting the Canadian covered in mud too.

Canada had obediently taken his bath, while England almost had to throw America in into the water, then hold him down while France washed his hair.

The moment he'd finished his bath he'd jumped up, soaking the older nations and run through the house stark naked wailing like a lunatic.

So when they said an exhausting day with the children, they meant America.

"I don't know how you managed alone before..." France murmured with amusement, wrapping one arm around the Englishman, so they were both comfortable.

"It's because he shows off in front of Canada" England grumbled back, shifting so France could get his arm in a better position.

"You're still to thin L'Angleterre..." France chuckled, able to feel England's ribs under his fingers. He'd been hoping that England would gain a bigger appetite with his cooking, but the nation remained just as thin as ever.

"Humph!" Was all England had to say to that.

Then he looked up so he and France were staring each other straight in the eye.

"Alors, où étiez-vous hier?" _So, where were you yesterday? _England spoke in fluent French.

For a moment France wondered why, then he realised it was in case the boy's were listening in. They both understood English, and while Canada's French wasn't bad, he was still learning it.

"où pensez-vous?" _Where do you think? _France shrugged, allowing England's soft moss coloured eyes to hypnotise him for a moment.

"Je veux juste savoir..." _I just want to know... _England hesitated, "if you don't want to tell me, that's fine; it isn't any of my business..." He got up to go.

"Wait..." France grasped at his hand, pulling him back down onto the sofa with him. He let out a tired groan, then spoke, "J'ai rencontré une fille au pub et y passa la nuit." _I met a girl at the pub and spent the night there. _

He waited for England's reaction, eyeing him for any signs of what he was hoping for. And it was there.

"I see..." England forgot the French, turning his head away slowly, "perfectly normal of course..." He muttered, more to himself than France, "I mean why wouldn't you..."

"England..."

England turned, only to find France's lips interlocked with his own.

France was encouraged by the small moan that escaped the Englishman's lips, letting his tongue join the fray, running it along England's perfectly shaped white teeth.

It was only when his hands turned to England's shirt that the Brit shot away, with a frightened look in his eyes, shaking his head.

"What's wrong?" France could hear his own disappointment coming out strong in the question.

England returned to the sofa, kissing France's mouth softly.

"We can't" he murmured, begging the Frenchman to understand.

"Everyone has scars L'Angleterre..." France tried again, but he was batted away for a second time.

"We can't" England repeated.

He let France kiss him again, but that was all he would allow.

**1700 – Poland split between Russia, Prussia, and Austria; Lithuania given to Russia**

"You can't!" Poland bit down on Austria's hand.

While it had been decided that after the defeat of the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth that the Polish nation would be split between the three of them, Austria got the nation, while Russia got the whole of Lithuania.

Prussia wasn't to bothered about taking care of another nation, rumour had it he was taking care of a young nation he'd named West, and didn't have time to take care of anyone else.

No one knew quite where the boy had come from, and who he was nation off, but the child was a constant shadow around Prussia.

He was with him now, watching Poland and Lithuania being pulled away from each other.

"What's happening?" He tugged at Prussia's uniform questioningly, pointing at the display,

"We're splitting the spoils of war..." Prussia's voice was bitter as he spoke, turning West away from Lithuania, who had mainly been Russia's fight.

The young brown haired nation was covered from head to foot in blood, his head lolled down on his chest, suggesting to anyone who hadn't checked, that he was dead.

"I'll take good care of him" Russia was beaming, waving back at Poland, who looked furious, and terrified.

"Swap me!" He turned to Austria, begging.

Prussia realised it wasn't just the fact they were being separated, Poland wanted to protect Lithuania from Russia.

"Let's go home" Prussia suggested, taking hold of the blond child's hand, and leading him away.

"Hey!" Prussia turned, that bastard Austria was running up to him, after having handed Poland to a group of his men, he was looking down at West with a puzzled look on his face. "That child reminds me of someone..." He lowered his glasses to get a better look at the boy.

"No he doesn't!" Prussia snapped, shoving Austria hard in the chest, "just piss off back to your big house where Hungary's waiting for you to..." He stopped himself, but glared hard at Austria, who was now returning the glare.

"Look whatever happened between you and Hungary once is in the past, she's a young lady now, and needs to be treated with respect, she'd not your fighting partner any more..." Austria trailed off, sensing that Prussia was about to hit him.

"She was fine with all that before! It was only when she became so obsessed with YOU!" Prussia was trembling with anger, Austria supposed the only reason he wasn't already beaten to the ground was because Prussia was trying to control himself in front of the child.

He calmed himself, spinning on his heel, "give the bitch my best!" He hissed.


	42. Chapter 36

**1701 – War of Austrian Succession**

"Are you sure you haven't just been waiting for an excuse?" France smirked, giving Prussia a sideways look.

This was the first time since the thirty year war that they'd all been stood alongside each other like this.

The stoic looking Sweden was also back at their side, ready to face the enemy troops.

"Why are we fighting again?" Spain still seemed reasonably friendly until the killing started, in fact he kept looking over his shoulder in the direction of Italy- he'd sent Romano to stay with his brother while he was fighting.

"I'll show that stupid prissy who he can appoint as leader..." Prussia seemed to be grumbling softly to himself; he'd left his young charge at home with the servants.

While France and England who had broken their initial promise of not fighting each other, had left Canada and America to take care of themselves.

"Are you okay with this?" Spain gave France a small nudge, not wanting to disturb Prussia's rambling, or feel like he was telling the whole army.

"You mean England..." France shook his head, "we're fine with it, we always fight, it's part of us, neither of us will take a war like this to heart..." He stopped fast when he saw Prussia was glaring at him, "...Not that doesn't mean I won't fight hard."

Prussia knew Spain was mainly in this to see if he could get hold of Italy from Austria, while France was interested in getting a hold of some of Spain's Dutch land while he was busy fighting. They weren't quite sure why Sweden was there, but it probably had something to do with Russia being on the other side- he was a little worried about Russia he'd admitted to France and Spain before the start of the war.

The tense atmosphere was only lengthened by the late arrival of the nations they were meant to be fighting.

England and Austria were infamous for being late, Hungary was probably with Austria, Russia... No one quite knew why he wasn't here already, and the new Dutch countries may have gotten lost.

~/~

"Where was the battle meant to be again?" Belgium blinked round at the older nations, she was the youngest one there. Netherlands had remarked that twelve year old girls should be at home worrying, but she wasn't having any of it; besides she was quite enjoying herself with Hungary.

They'd set up a camp in the middle of a forest somewhere, deciding it would be a better idea to look for the battlefield tommorow.

Netherlands was smoking something odd from a pipe at the far end of the camp where he and Belgium had set up camp.

England was fussing over Austria's cooking, demanding the dark haired nation show him how it was made, while Hungary was telling him to piss off and leave her and Austria alone.

Russia was looking around with a distant happy look on his face at all the green of the forest.

"Why are we fighting in this war again?" Belgium strolled up to Netherlands looking bored, tossing her fair hair behind her back- it was shorter than Hungary's, Belgium envied how long Hungary seemed to be able to get her hair without making a mess of it.

Though Hungary had confessed when she was younger she used to let it get into an awful mess, which made Belgium feel better.

Netherlands finished the puff he was having before removing the pipe slowly from his mouth.

Belgium didn't really like the strange thing he smoked, and often lectured him when he told her twelve year olds couldn't do something, that sixteen year olds shouldn't be smoking.

"We want that bastard Spain to leave us alone" he shrugged, as though he wasn't really listening to her.

"I think Spain's sweet, and Romano's cute as well" Belgium crossed her arms, "I don't get why you don't like them so much..."

Netherlands didn't even bother replying, but shut his eyes, placing the pipe back in his mouth.

**1702 – Belarus given to Russia**

Poland almost threw the fifteen year old girl in Russia's direction.

While Russia was fighting against Sweden and his allies, he had taken a break to beat Poland into giving him Belarus.

Though he looked a little like he was regretting the decision now.

"Where's Lithuania!" Poland snapped, he'd been hoping to see his old friend, but it seemed like Russia hadn't brought him with him.

He had his older sister Ukraine, and one of the other Baltic states that Poland didn't recognise; a tall blond boy with glasses.

Belarus had wrapped her arms firmly around Russia's waist, and didn't show any signs of letting go, however much he tried to push her off him.

Poland gave a small smirk, at least Russia would find her just as much work as he had, if not more. But it didn't stop his worries about Lithuania; he had heard awful stories about what Russia did to the other Baltic states...

He saw the other Baltic state staring hard at him, obviously trying to get a message to him without actually having to say it in front of Russia or his sisters.

Whatever it was Poland didn't find out, but he didn't like the look of it.

**1707 – Mt Fuji erupted, England and Scotland joined to make Britain**

Japan choked back a cough, trying to reach back to where he could hear his people crying for help, their voices growing weaker.

Mt Fuji had been erupting for the last week, and showed no signs of slowing down. It was like the world was falling around Japan's eyes.

In the moment of darkness he wondered whether any other nearby countries would see the ash in the air and think of him...

Would they even know who he was...

Vaguely he could remember a boy and a girl who had come to visit him once, would they be thinking of him now?

* * *

"Bastard..." England fell back into his chair the moment he'd opened the door for the Frenchman, he was clearly pissed, France could guess that much.

Truthfully he shouldn't really be here while they were at war, but he knew England would be depressed over the union he'd read about in the paper. It didn't look like England and Scotland would have to live together, but both were grumbling.

"Come on, cheer up England..." France forced the bottle of funny smelling liquid out of England's hands; England scowled but did not complain.

Moving swiftly to his kitchen to fetch a glass of water for the drunk nation.

It made France chuckle a little when he realised England hadn't actually drunk very much, despite his apperance.

"My, my" he smirked, "a light weight are we?"

"Shut-up Frog!" England tried to snap, succeeding only in falling off his chair onto the floor with a depressing groan.

"Come on," France lifted him to his feet, helping him up the stairs to his bedroom.

Why England had chosen such a small house compared to the other nations France wasn't sure. The Englishman only had one servant as well- an elderly cook, who as far as the English went was pretty good.

"I feel sick" England mumbled, leaning heavily on France's shoulder- his face a pale green colour.

Hurriedly France changed direction, heading for the bathroom; he didn't want his new coat ruined with the 'Brit's' sick.

Though surprisingly enough, when England reached the bathroom he started to look a bit better without actually having to be sick.

But only when France was certain he was safe did he lead England back to his bedroom.

"Come on..." France bent his fingers towards the buttons of England's shirt; he couldn't let the other nation sleep in his clothes, however pissed he was.

"No" England spoke firmly, batting France's hands away, his eyes (though unsteady) managed to glare at France with warning.

"I wasn't going to do anything," the older man protested, not able to help but feel slightly irritated, "you can't sleep in your clothes..."

"Then piss off and let me change in private!" England suddenly snapped, almost pushing the Frenchman from the room with his usual force.

Standing outside, waiting for the all clear, France shook his head.

What was England's problem?

Sure in some relationships people didn't want to commit to you until after you'd been seeing each other maybe a year or so... But a hundred years!

"You can come in now..." England opened the door, looking sheepish- dressed in a night shirt, and trousers. He was clearly feeling guilty about having snapped at France earlier.

"Thank you," France gave him a warm smile, letting him now he was unconditionally forgiven.

They had sometimes shared a bed in the house with America and Canada, but only if England was sure France wasn't about to try something. Which kept it to only _sometimes_.

It seemed England was again placing this trust on him, because he patted the space on the bed next to him with one hand, not meeting France's gaze.

Giving a grin, France bounded to sit next to him; catching a kiss in the same moment.

Neither of them had ever said they loved the other, to be honest neither of them believed they were in love either. It was just an agreement they'd settled on.

France was surprised that England still tasted of his normal soft taste after drinking. His surprise made him hold the kiss maybe a little longer than he'd normally have done.

"You do know we're meant to be fighting...?" England murmured as they pulled away slowly, his emerald eyes burning into France's.

"We're not tonight," France pointed out fairly, kissing him again, "this war will be over soon enough, once Prussia's sorted out his _real _problem with Austria..."

"Which is?" England tilted his head curiously, a look he probably didn't know, would send France around the world if he'd wanted. (Good thing he wasn't aware of it)

France laughed, "You know Hungary, that nation who seems so close to Austria?"

England nodded, leaning forward a little- though he would not let France kiss him again till he'd heard the whole story.

"Well, she and Prussia used to be friends..." He paused for England's reaction. It was just as it should be.

"Her, and, and..." England seemed to struggle for the right words, finally settling on "_him_!"

"...When she thought she was a boy" France continued, loving every expression that passed over England's face, "though don't tell anyone, or Prussia and Hungary will hunt you down" France warned, only half joking.

He let England initiate the kiss this time. folding his hands into the other blond's messy hair.

It became clear though that England was getting tired, so France broke the kiss.

Pulling off his own shirt- deciding he couldn't be bothered to change his trousers; despite the lecture he had given England earlier, France pulled the cover over them both, while England snuggled into his side.

**1719 – Liechtenstein created within the old area of the Holy Roman Empire**

The girl blinked up at the beautiful landscape around her.

It was a nice place to be born she decided, even if her land was not very big; it seemed like such a lovely place, she couldn't dream of having more of it.

The only part of the landscape that seemed disturbed was the endless sounds of gunfire coming from the north, she assumed a war must be going on.

Even in her five year old mind Liechtenstein knew she never wanted war. She wanted to live forever, peacefully like this.

"Hey!" A sudden mighty voice, that roared like echoes in the mountains called out to her.

Liechtenstein gave a small scream, diving for cover behind one of the plentiful bushes.

She heard the voice sigh, and heard footsteps approaching. Looking up she laid eyes on a blond boy with a fierce but somehow worried look, peering down at her.

"Who are you?" He asked, looking around as if she might be a lost child separated from her parents.

Remembering her duty suddenly, she jumped to her feet; coming all the way up to the boy's knee cap.

"You're trespassing" she squeaked bravely, staring straight at his knee cap without blinking.

Then she heard the boy laugh. He was beaming down at her affectionately.

"So you're a new nation then?" The boy didn't look any older than seventeen, how could he be a nation?

"You're too young to be a nation" the girl argued, still glaring at his kneecap.

Again he laughed, "you're one to talk, just wait till your my age, I bet you'll look even younger than me."

Looping his hands under her arms, he hoisted her into the air to get a better look at the girl.

She was a small, pretty little thing, with long blond hair, and bright inquisitive green eyes; she was a nation all right, but of where?

"My country is small but we'll chase you off if we have to!" She warned, thankful she could now look him in the eye.

"Don't worry" the boy shook his head, "my country is neutral, we don't fight," the girl thought she heard him mutter "_at least not with other countries_" but she wasn't sure.

"What's neutral?" She asked, reaching out a hand to prod his nose lightly,

"It means we only concern ourselves, with ourselves..." He paused, listening to the gunshots in the distance, "without getting involved in wars like that."

"I want to be neutral!" The girl told him firmly, pulling a tiny determined looking face. The boy had to fight back a laugh.

"What's your name?" She prodded his cheek this time, a little more firmly,

"I'm Switzerland, what about you?"

"Liechtenstein."


	43. Chapter 37

**1720 – Russia prohibits Ukrainian**

This had not gone the way she'd expected at all.

Russia had definitely changed since he was a child, or was it just that she hadn't noticed it before?

She had begun to feel threatened a few years ago and made an alliance with Sweden, but Russia had caught on and defeated both of their armies like it was nothing. She'd seen the Baltic state he was also in control of.

But now he'd gone as far to ban her language! Not that she was going to listen of course, and she'd made the firm decision to tell him over dinner tonight.

She supposed Russia did treat her and Belarus quite well compared to the three boys, one of which looked no older than twelve, then there was Estonia- the oldest of the Baltic states, he was the same age as Russia.

Lithuania was the last Baltic state.

Ukraine remembered back to the days when the boy had been bursting with confidence, invading her country as well as Belarus' with a joyful pleasure. When she saw him now, she couldn't imagine what she'd hated about him.

She was pretty sure her brother hadn't touched him yet; but the stress of not being allowed to see the nation he had been in a commonwealth with had never left him.

"Russia..." She began, when they'd finished the last course, "about this prohibiting Ukrainian..." But she didn't get a chance to finish. The look Russia was giving her (to the untrained eye) hadn't faltered from its normal cheery smile, but she saw a dangerous look beginning to claw its way up at the back.

The large nation never attacked the two girls when he was angry, it was always one of the boys.

"I think you girls should go do something before bedtime" he smiled, getting to his feet; sweeping his eyes over the Baltic nations, who sank back in fear.

Ukraine felt her heart stop as Russia's gaze stopped on Lithuania.

"No!" She stared at Russia franticly, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything!"

"I think you girls should go and do something before bedtime" Russia repeated, sweeping Latvia and Estonia away.

Ukraine had no choice but to follow her sister off to another part of the house.

Russia closed the door behind them, throwing a dark look at the Lithuanian, who was staring desperately around for some sort of escape route.

"You've been living here a while da?" Russia beamed, approaching him slowly, "I think it's time I treated you like the other two!" He spoke his last word with a snarling viciousness, lunging forward to grab Lithuania's hair.

Grinning as Lithuania cried out.

"I'll do more than that!" Russia hurled him to the floor, getting on top of him; banging his head on the cold stone floor.

"Please!" Lithuania begged beneath him, tears bulging in the corners of his eyes,

"Why?" Russia sounded genuinely curious, "why should I stop?" He hit Lithuania's head again when he did not get a reply.

The sixteen year old Baltic state could already feel Russia shifting his trousers down, along with his own.

The first time he thrusted, Lithuania screamed; blood spurting onto his thighs. The second time he screamed even louder; his frightened voice echoing round the entire house, for every nation and servant to hear.

"Do you want to go home?" Russia mocked, grinding Lithuania to the ground, leaning forward to bite his neck, and mouth. "Want to go home to Poland?"

From the whimper, he guessed he was right.

"Why?" He asked again, "Why, after I've made him so weak? You have nothing to go back to now?"

"I have him!" Lithuania managed to spit back, his voice dissolving into harder cries as Russia drilled harder into him.

"He is nothing," Russia leaned low to whisper in his ear, before drawing a sharp pointed silver knife from his coat pocket, splitting Lithuania's chest in one small swipe. "You'll never go back to him!"

When he'd finished Russia got to his feet and wondered from the room; a smile on his face, like nothing had happened.

After everyone else was asleep Ukraine crept back to the kitchen to see how much damage had been done.

At first she wasn't sure what she could see, it looked so strange in the half light. But as she grew accustomed to the light, she could make out a broken body lying in a wide pool of blood near the back wall.

The sign he was still awake came from the tremble that shook his entire body.

He looked up weekly at Ukraine, managing a small smile, to tell her he didn't blame her.

Cuts laced his face like puzzle pieces. Jagged and careless; Ukraine wouldn't be surprised if Russia had just held the blade to Lithuania's face while he'd... jerked him forwards...

* * *

"Are you still fighting?" Romano tossed lazily on Spain's bed, surveying the older nation across the room.

Spain hardly came home any more. So embarrassingly Romano had taken to sleeping in the Spaniard's bed. Just because it's the largest he assured himself.

"Yes, I'm still fighting" Spain smiled slowly. Romano hadn't missed the fact Spain wouldn't turn and face him. He'd practically covered his face when Romano had come to curse/greet him at the door.

"Why won't you look at me bastard?" The Italian was pretty sure he knew the answer, but his curiosity wanted to hear Spain say it himself.

"You wouldn't want me to..." He swallowed, looking like he was about to move towards the door. But Romano was older now, and almost as tall as Spain himself, and the age gap between them could only be a year now.

He moved between Spain and the door, trying to get a proper look at the Spaniard's face.

"Romano please..." Spain was looking at him, but his eyes were closed, "...I've got a battle to go and fight..."

This time Romano did step aside. Spain's intensity made him even more afraid of what he might see in the normally bright eyes.

**1748 – The end of the war of Austrian Succession  
**_Authors note: I've made a mistake on when the war of Austrian Succession started, it was 1740, but I'm too lazy to change all the story now._

Prussia's eyes would travel nowhere but Hungary's face. His scarlet eyes glaring unforgiving at her as Austria signed the victory treaty with that horrid upper class arrogant smirk on his face!

"Steady..." Spain placed a hand carefully on Prussia's shoulder to stop him trembling in rage as Hungary and Austria shared a brief kiss when he returned to her.

The burning jealously that he had hidden before was now coming on harder than ever. What did she see in that prat!

He watched her glance around the room, everywhere but at him. She knew he was glaring at her, she knew that what she'd done to him that day when they were children still hurt him.

England and France weren't even there for the signing; they'd gone back over the Atlantic ocean to those colonies they were so obsessed with.

"One of these days!" Prussia suddenly shot away from Spain's grip, catching Austria by the front of his shirt, "One of these days, I'll get back at you!"

Feeling Hungary's angry look, he dropped the Austrian again, giving the Hungarian young woman a long hard look. No words needed to be said there.

~/~

However much they had tried to avoid it, the distance between France and England had grown over the war. They snapped at each other more easily, feeling the tensions of their people against each other beginning to grow as well.

"Go to bed kids" France murmured, already able to feel England was spoiling for another argument,

"Don't tell America what to do, just remember he's my nation not yours! Unless your planning on stealing him!" England's aggression was the worst part of it.

The Brit had come to a state where he could no longer control his anger, even in front of America and Canada.

"What's wrong with England?" Canada whispered, more to America than them.

Both boys had hit twelve, and were beyond the age where they were simply going to do what they were told.

"He's in a bad mood, that's all," France tried to shoo them again, but England was already arguing back.

"Anyone who had to put up with you would be in a bad mood!" He snapped, an furious glow flickering in his expression.

"But why?" America pressed, though Canada was now trying to pull him back in the direction of their own room.

"Because frigid people can't stand to be around me!" Francis gave a triumphant smirk, finally losing his own temper, but he had just pushed England to the edge.

"What did you call me!" The Brit lunged at him, knocking the Frenchman to the floor, smashing through the glass coffee table behind him.

"Frigid! you are frigid right!" France punched him round the face, making England stagger back so he could get to his own feet.

The Englishman tried to hit him back, but wasn't quick enough. France felt his fist collide again with England's face.

Letting him stagger back, still red in the face with anger.

"I hate you!" He screamed, rushing in the direction of his own room, leaving France to tidy up the mess.

Both boys had left when England knocked Francis through the table. Neither of them were quite sure what frigid meant, and they knew now wasn't the time to ask.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Canada climbed into America's bed, snuggling beside him for comfort.

"They'll get over it," America hugged him back, but he didn't sound to confident, "they've always argued... There just going through a bad patch at the moment..."

"I hope so..." Canada nodded, sticking the bear France had bought him for Christmas between them. America wasn't sure why, but he really hated it when Canada stuck the silly white bear between them, and talked to it like it was real; what about him, was he no better than a bear!

"Can't you put that thing away?" He grumbled, trying to move round the bear to get closer to the other boy again.

For some reason once they reached a certain age, France and England had been adamant that the boys sleep in separate beds. Why America and Canada weren't sure.

"Kumajiro isn't a thing!" Canada replied, crossly, stroking the bear's soft fur, "he takes care of me!"

"And I don't!" The American boy demanded, managing to get his hand close enough to brush against Canada's cheek.

"I didn't mean that..." Canada lowered the bear, sounding upset, "sorry, I'm just really worried..."

Now the wall between them had been lowered America calmed down, "I'm sorry to Canada, I guess I'm a little worried as well..."

* * *

Romano groaned, why did Spain have to be such a heavy sleeper?

It always meant when one of his stupid friends knocked on the door at_ two in the morning _he had to go and get it.

The hammering that had woken him up was perhaps a little more persistent than usual, but no more than a few drinks too far Romano supposed.

"Who is it?" He muttered through the key hole, just to be extra irritating, hoping with all his heart that it was raining outside.

"Open the fucking door!" An angry sounding voice snapped back; it sounded like France's voice, but now Romano wasn't sure whether he should open the door at all.

But it seemed like Spain had finally been awoken from his murmuring slumber.

"What's going on?" He glanced at the door worriedly, Romano supposed he himself must have a fearful expression on to make Spain pause like that.

"I think it's France..." Romano spoke slowly, as the loud knocking continued, "but he sounds really angry..."

Cautiously moving to join Romano by the key hole he called out; "France is that you?"

"Who else would it bloody well be!"

Spain moved back, giving a decisive nod, "he's drunk, and saying that about France, he's had a hell of a lot to drink."

He moved Romano behind him protectively, though the other young man was at least the same height as him now. Opening the door he moved back to give France clear entrance.

"Romano I think you should go back to bed..." The Italian heard Spain whisper to him, while France was staring around the house wildly, like he'd never been there before.

He wished he was brave enough to stay and help Spain, but all he could do was nod, and do what he was told.

"That English fucking, bastard, shit head..." The list went on, they were the last words Romano heard before Spain closed the door to the livingroom behind him and the raving Frenchman.

"What's happened?" Spain gave a long sigh, he'd had a feeling something like this would be coming soon, though why France was taking it enough to heart to get drunk about he wasn't sure.

The Frenchman was notorious for his long number of relationships, most of which he broke up like this, but he'd never acted like this before afterwards.

"He knocked me through the coffee table!" He paused, collapsing into a chair, "and I punched him... twice..."

"What about that kid you take care of?" Spain waved his hand around, trying to remember the name of the child who France had claimed as a colony.

"Canada? England hasn't banned me from the house... _yet_, but he'd have to send Canada with me," a bitter look passed over his face, "unless he wants to fight me for him..."

"And America?" Spain was trying to return France to something they could both talk about with level heads, but a sudden grin had spread across France's face, as though he'd just been struck by a lightning idea.

"Of course!" He leapt to his feet, "I'll take America from him first!"

"What!" Spain had lost the conversation, but France's mind was looking clearer than it had done a few moments ago. The look in his eyes was similar to the one Spain had caught on himself at the peak of war, but there was no war...

"Of course I won't announce it now" France jumped to his feet, eyes blazing- lost in the moment, "I'll wait a little while... Yeah, that's right..." He sounded like he was talking to himself now.

Unknown to Spain Romano had crept back down the stairs, pressing his ear to the door to hear the conversation going on inside.

"You'll back me right?" France clutched at Spain's shoulders, "you'll fight on my side?" His voice was pitched with hysteria, eyes pleading and desperate.

"... France, I..." Spain shook his head, "I can't leave Romano again..."

"Don't worry!" France let out a splutter of laughter, "it won't happen _now_, but when it does happen, you'll be on my side, I know you will!"

Romano heard steps coming towards the door; he shot away quickly, hiding himself in the shadows near the staircase.

"Are you going?" Spain didn't sound too sorry to see the Frenchman was leaving,

"Can't stay! I've got stuff to sort out!" With that the door was slammed closed, and France was gone.

"Will you really fight?" Romano stepped out of his hiding place, crossing his arms, and avoiding Spain's look of surprise to see him there.

"Romano..." Spain was struggling to find a way he could avoid the question, his gaze shifting uneasily.

"Will you fight!" Romano repeated, moving so they were level, showing Spain he was now tall enough to glare into his eyes without having to tilt his head.

"It's too early to say..." Spain shook his head, "England is too powerful, France is right, he might try and take Canada; then he could go for my territories in the south," he was beginning to see reason now in what France had been saying.

"You always say that! All of you do! It seems like the obvious excuse when England's on the other side!"

Spain shook his head, "that troublesome little country gets everywhere," it looked like he was remembering some distant memory.

"_I will be a big nation one day! Then you'll all bow before me!" _

It had sounded funny coming from such a tiny child, but now Spain could see that was the most sinister bit about it.


	44. Ages 6

Greece – 15

Turkey – 21

France – 19

Spain – 18

Italy – 15

Romano – 17

Austria – 22

Japan – 20

England – 18

Ukraine – 20

Belarus – 15

Russia – 21

Denmark – 17

Norway – 16

Prussia – 20

Germany – 12

Hungary – 17

Poland – 16

Lithuania – 16

Switzerland – 17

Taiwan – _20_

Korea – _16 _

America – 12

Sweden – 18

Finland – 15

Canada – 12

Belgium – 12

Netherlands – 16

Liechtenstein – 5

*Those in Italics have reached their full age


	45. Chapter 38

**1756 – The Seven year war over America begins**

England had only managed to secure a few allies in the fight, but he suspected Prussia was only fighting with him because Austria and Hungary were in France's alliance.

Why the hell had that bastard called war on him!

He'd given Canada to him without a fight, he hadn't done anything! So why was France trying to take America from him!

France had made alliances all over Europe; Prussia and France's old friend Spain had joined his alliance, along with the terrifying Russia, Sweden, and Hungary and Austria.

"We're going to win this!" England clenched his teeth together, thumbs twitching for his gun, though one of the soldiers was polishing it before the first battle began.

"Of course we are!" Prussia grinned back, looking just as stubborn as England.

They may be outnumbered, but that didn't mean they were going to be intimidated.

"You take on Austria and Hungary" England murmured, knowing that was what Prussia wanted to do, "I'll deal with France and Sweden, and we'll regroup for Russia."

Prussia nodded excitedly, eyes gleaming in his anticipation.

He'd brought the child nation with him. West, England thought Prussia had called him.

The child was only there to watch, being far too young for battles, but he was coming on to a healthy twelve years.

Something about the boy reminded him of someone, but he didn't like to ponder to long on it.

"They're coming..." Prussia pointed over the hillside where the other army was appearing. They were coming in bigger numbers than even Prussia and England couldn't have guessed.

"See you at the end..." England swallowed, but took his gun firmly from the other soldier.

The English troops opened first fire, hailing down bullets at the French side of the enemy line, while the cavalry charged in to meet with the other soldiers, their sabres flashing in the midday sun.

As long as they could avoid the others, the nations would escape at least the first battle unscathed. But they couldn't leave it like that.

It passed through England's mind again why France had formed an alliance with Russia?

Russia was the only nation in the real thick of battle, firing down anyone he could hit; when he tired of the gun he pulled a rusty implement from his coat; battering soldiers to death with that instead.

Bending to aim England fired, hoping to at least make Russia take a step back, he guessed it would take more than that to chase him away completely.

He saw the bullet pass through Russia's arm but it seemed to do no more damage than a human bullet... at least it didn't hurt as much.

Blood flowed from the wound England had made, however it had alerted Russia to his position.

Before he could run, Russia had caught him round the throat with the metal object, dragging him down to the ground.

"So this is England?" Russia sounded childishly curious, pressing his large boot down hard on England's head, pressing it into the dirt. "I thought you'd be bigger than me..." He laughed, "but your smaller than France. How can you own so much of the world?"

England saw Russia raise the instrument above his head before swinging it back down on the back of England's neck- just missing breaking it.

"Missed..." Russia sounded disappointed, but was raising his weapon again.

Closing his eyes for the impact England heard another shot, then he realised the strange item had dropped to the ground.

"Get up!" Prussia knocked Russia back, his gun smoking from where he'd shot Russia's hand.

England obeyed, though his neck felt like it was about to fall off, his nose was definitely broken, and face bruised under the mud from the force Russia had exerted.

**1759 – Canada becomes a British colony**

"What!" France cut down his own messenger in fury, he had just received the news that his commanders had surrendered Canada!

How had they surrendered Canada! They weren't even fighting on North American soil!

His worst fears had come true.

England had taken Canada from him. The Brit's empire was growing ever more vast, even moving onto France's colonies!

"You were trying to take America" Spain pointed out when France told him the news.

France hated how distantly Spain seemed to be taking this war- the wrong sort of distance. The bloodthirsty look he'd been after for the battle, and it seemed like Spain was doing everything to ensure it didn't come; going as far as not turning up to fight sometimes.

"That was because he'd have taken Canada if I didn't!" France spat, glaring round at his allies for support.

"But he h's t'k'n C'n'da" Sweden shrugged, ignoring France's fierce glare.

"We're having troubles near my border" Austria spoke up worriedly, "Prussia seems to be applying more pressure on me and Hungary's armies than anywhere else," Hungary nodded in agreement, clinging to Austria's arm; she was terrified of France like this.

"But we need to win the war da?" Russia had been quiet until now, but now he had risen from his corner his mere presence seemed to fill the entire room with a shiver.

"Right!" France leapt into the air, glad someone was finally agreeing with him- he was too far gone to distinguish the difference between Russia and his other allies.

"France are you sure you're fighting this war for the right reasons?" Spain lowered his voice, trying to get some reasoning force out of the Frenchman, but it didn't look like there was any left.

"Why else would I be fighting!" France spun to grab the front of Spain's shirt.

The Spaniard glared back, sending further quivers down Hungary's spine; she had thought never to see that look again.

"Are you going to fight every war against England?" Spain's voice trembled with anger, "you don't like England's empire, this is about breaking him down isn't it!"

There was a sickening crack as France forced Spain backwards into the wall, head first. Letting him drop to the floor France turned him onto his back with his foot, raising his boot high above Spain's head, bringing it down on his nose.

Spain was back on his feet in an instant, he looked like he was holding back every nerve in his body not to hit France.

"Fuck this!" Spain spat through the blood spitting from his nose, "my soldiers will continue to fight with yours, but I will no longer stand by you!" Shooting a black look across the room before he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Austria and Hungary exchanged hesitant looks.

~/~

Romano heard the door opening. What was Spain doing back now? Had the war ended?

"Bastard?" Romano greeted him in his usual way, calling out into the hall; but Spain was heading wordlessly up the stairs.

Moving out into the hall Romano caught a trail of blood leading from the door to the stairs.

"You I-Idiot!" Romano stammered, calling up the stairs, "now I'll have to wash it again!" But he couldn't keep the fear from his voice.

Was this an enemy's blood, or Spain's?

Unable to leave it, Romano grabbed some bandages from the kitchen, and sprinted up the stairs to Spain's room. He knew the Spaniard didn't have a lock, so nothing would stop him from getting in.

Spain was huddled in a corner of the room, with the curtains drawn.

Romano could see his eyes clearly. They were not the war like ones he had been expecting.

The older man opened his mouth wordlessly when he caught sight of Romano in the doorway; struggling to wipe his tears away.

Romano could see blood dripping from the back of Spain's head, and his nose. Whatever had happened to him, he'd taken a serious beating.

Hurrying away he returned with a bucket of water and clean rag.

"What are you doing?" Spain sounded exhausted, trying to blink through the tears and blood to get a clearer look at the approaching Italian.

"You can't stay like this you idiot!" Was the reply, when a cool cloth was held against his head. Romano's other hand was on the side of his face to keep it steady while he mopped away the blood.

"Who did this to you? It had to be a nation right?" Romano sounded insistent and angry, placing the cloth back in the bucket, watching the transferred blood swim into the water, turning it quickly a sickly red colour.

When Spain didn't reply Romano gave a low growl, "France is completely insane!" It seemed like Romano could guess easily, "what the hell has set him off like this!"

The Italian moved onto his nose, fixing it back into place and mopping away the blood that covered his carer's face.

"You've grown older" Romano observed, pressing his forehead to Spain's,

"how old?" Spain murmured, still feeling dizzy from the knock to his head,

"Twenty maybe" the other murmured, giving Spain a sign he didn't want to talk at the moment.

They stayed in that position with their foreheads pressed lightly together for quite some time before Romano spoke again.

"I was visited by someone while you were gone..." He muttered,

"Ita-chan?" Spain asked hopefully, his usual bright and stupid look returning, but Romano was shaking his head, looking disturbed.

"I don't know who it was, they were dressed in a cloak; but I'm sure it was a woman... She sounded ancient..."

"Hmm?" Spain closed his eyes, it was probably just a civilian, and Romano was overreacting.

"She told me that their would be two great bloodsheds of the world..." He looked worried, "and then, at the end, the world as we know it would end, and the nations would cry..."

"Anything else?" Spain meant it as a joke, he didn't take any of these fortune tellers seriously, especially ones who told Romano such stupid things.

But Romano nodded, looking shifty, "she told me to ask you how those hybrid babies were doing..."

Spain flinched.

Romano was staring at him questioningly, he hadn't missed Spain's shock.

"They're mad people Romano" Spain suddenly laughed, patting his head, "you shouldn't take what they say so seriously."

**1763 – Seven Year war ends**

The fighting continued. The battles getting worse and worse.

France found himself losing his ferocity in the war. The truth was he'd been in control the whole time, he'd just been so angry he'd let himself go like this. But he would need to be mad to put up with it any longer, and that he wasn't.

Despite the numbers, England and Prussia were pushing them back. It was stupid to carry this on any longer, he had to know when to stop.

His allies seemed to agree when he told them he thought they should give up. All except Russia, who said nothing.

France knew he would have to endure England's insulting comments, and Prussia's vicious questioning- he suspected Prussia had visited Spain when their friend had stopped fighting himself.

But when he arrived to sign he found no such thing from Prussia.

"Here to sign are you?" Prussia patted his back, "good game, I think your meant to say in situations like this. ...England's just through here..."

France didn't like the pause, what was wrong?

"What's the matter with him?" With a small surge of panic France wondered whether he'd seriously injured England in this war? Having Russia on his side had been risky.

But to his relief Prussia was shaking his head.

"He's just a little worried about America at the moment, ever since the war they haven't been getting on to well..."

He opened the doors to where England was waiting. France saw what Prussia had meant.

England's eyes were wide and twitchy, shifting his gaze all over the room. France could feel his suspicion of everything and everyone there. He could clearly feel something coming, but surely his fights with America hadn't been that bad... He'd have heard about it if it they'd started a war as well.

"Sign then!" England snapped impatiently, jumping at his own voice, clinging to his opposite arm every now and then, casting another wild look around him.

France moved forward quickly to sign, casting a look at the Brit.

Then he saw it, more clearly than he'd ever seen something before in his life. Everyone knew it was there, but not to the extent that France now saw it laced across England's face.

Power.

The once tiny nation that now held almost half the world in his hands. Even if not physically England had grown larger than Rome, larger than the Holy Roman Empire, he had grown to a size no other nation would even dream of, without them even knowing.

It had destroyed Rome, and it had destroyed the Holy Roman Empire.

What he was seeing now was a man with too much, being driven mad by what he couldn't control.

What England had unknowingly shown him in that one look was that he'd destroy America before allowing him to leave the Empire.


	46. Chapter 39

**1766 – Fighting breaks out in New York between British and American soldiers**

"Please don't fight..." Canada tried to pull his brother away from England, he didn't like the scary looks England had been throwing them the last few years.

But America had swelled up his chest in fury, he was now only a year younger than England, and was keen to show him that he no longer wanted to be pushed around.

"What did you say!" America growled, pushing away the younger nation.

Canada was now sixteen- two years younger than America. Their own relationship seemed to be strained as well by this ferocity he held against England.

He was now seeing what so many other nations must have known, including France when he and England had that fight.

That the English nation was unbearable, his want to control everything was too much pressure on the nations he'd raised.

America and Canada were by no means alone in this feeling.

"I said you're a disobedient little kid with no respect for the rules!" England snapped back, gritting his teeth; eyes thin as snake slits as he stared on at the angry American.

"I'm not a kid!" America flew at him, smacking England hard round the face.

It was like a flare waiting to go off. Suddenly English and American soldiers had clashed into each other, rutting each other with the back of their guns, hitting anyone within reach.

"Don't do this here!" Canada tried to pull them apart, but one of them knocked him back, while the other didn't even seem to notice he was there.

America and England were in the centre of the scrap, landing hit after hit on the other.

But then it was over as soon as it was started.

England managed to grab America by his throat, pulling him down onto his knees; his expression triumphant.

"You'll never become independent!" He hissed, loud enough for the street to hear. He released the slightly younger nation, letting him retreat back to Canada.

"I hate him!" America grabbed Canada's arm, leading him back through the crowd, "I will gain my independence, just let him try and stop me!"

"You don't mean that..." Canada tried to reason with his friend,

"I do!" America insisted, "he's a bully, nothing more than a bully!"

**1775 – American revolution starts**

They were at war, it was official now. But how could Canada turn around and say he wouldn't help him!

America kicked at the ground ferociously, clenching his fists.

But England was a nation who needed to step down a few notches, and America was going to be the one to make him.

He had his men ready to fight, they'd needed little persuasion. The British needed to understand this was their country now, and they didn't need help from a tiny island over 3,000 miles away across the Atlantic ocean.

But he was nervous as well, it was the first battle he'd ever have fought in. England had kept him away from the European wars.

He'd heard strange stories about what war did to nations, but England was mad enough as it was, he didn't need a war to spark it.

The English troops were facing up to them, England at the front. Well trained in warfare from experience, and cold to the heart. America was nothing like that.

"Sure you want to continue this?" England mocked, striking his tongue along his sharp white teeth, a hungry look dominating his face, while the gun in his hands trembled with anticipation.

America swallowed, trying to face England eye to eye, managing to let out a loud cry of "fuck off back to your own island!" Followed by a loud cheer from his people, and a growl from England.

"That was your last chance," England raised his hand, and every gun was pointed straight at the American wall of people. "Fire!" He dropped his hand, and the onslaught began.

**1776 – The French and Spanish join the American side**

"You've got to help me!" America was almost ready to pull France and Spain back to America with him by force. "I can't beat England, not like this, he's fighting like he's never even heard of rules!"

"There are very little rules in war" Spain shrugged, "besides why should we help you?"

France and Spain had made up since the seven year war, after Spain had been able to give France an angry run down of what a bastard he'd been just because England knocked him through a coffee table, and made him paranoid.

Now France lifted his hand to quieten Spain, listening carefully to what the American was saying.

America nodded thankfully at him. "You two have experience to" he pointed out, "this isn't a war against England, it's in my defence," he stared hard at France, "surly you know how awful he is to have around?"

America saw a small painful twist in France's face.

"I'll help" the Frenchman agreed, getting to his feet to shake America's hand, "but not just for you..." He pressed on, "I won't see what I've seen happen to so many others, happen to L'Angleterre."

"I doubt England will see it that way" Spain warned, glancing up at America, "If he's helping I might as well come as well, Romano's visiting his brother at the moment..." Spain shook his head slowly, "but we're helping you with this, and this alone; don't expect to call on us if you want to invade anyone else,"

"I won't" America grinned, "when can you start?"

~/~

If America believed England couldn't sink any deeper into madness before, he'd even admit himself that he'd been wrong.

"Bastard..." England's breath was so low he may not even have said anything, but the voice travelling on the wind bit at all of them like ice.

England's eyes were on no one but France, his whole body trembling with anger, convulsing with shock and rage. Eyes falling deep into their sockets, as he withdrew deeper into his own mind.

America waited for the same speech France had given him about wanting to help England to come, but the Frenchman said nothing- his expression unreadable from where he stood next to Spain.

"I'll fucking kill you!" England lunged forward, seizing France's throat and knocking him to the hard parched ground.

America moved to help his ally, but Spain held him back.

"Say something!" England released France's throat, eyes filled with hatred, "speak!" He ordered, his voice screaming for them all just to fall to their knees and obey him, "speak!" He screamed, while France just stared at him coldly.

England flew back, his face now one of pure terror; clutching at his sides like he was trying to hold himself together.

"You don't know!" He spat, retreating away from the new alliance, "you don't understand!" England moved one hand to his side, trembling.

"What!" America demanded, ignoring Spain's signs to be quiet.

England gave a nervous laugh, "what you all think impossible, I could do it to all of you!" England jumped, looking afraid of himself. "A field, laid out in the middle of a forest; a clearing... It was so beautiful..."

"L'Angleterre..." France finally spoke, taking one step towards his neighbouring nation, "please try and focus..."

"I am!" England growled, the ferocity back in his voice, "you didn't! You didn't stop! You lost it, and I suffered for it!"

"What are you talking about?" France exchanged looks with Spain and America, seeing if it made sense to them, but they looked just as puzzled as him.

"FUCK OFF!" England screamed, turning tail and running back to where his army were awaiting orders.

"He's mentioned a field to me before..." America murmured, thinking hard, "I was a child, and he told me about this field he'd once visited... I can't remember the details, but he was fine then..."

"He's always mad" France patted America's head sadly, "I can't remember quite where it really began..."

**1783 – The treaty of Paris is signed, America has recognised independence**

England could hardly stand, let alone sign the treaty.

America hovered in the far corner of the room watching his former guardian carefully as the Brit finally managed to sign his name, before collapsing to the ground in despair.

France took the treaty from the desk, passing it to America who took it quickly, checking the signatures to make sure they were in the right place.

"Who told me I'd never be independent?" America bent low to hiss in England's ear, letting the final surge of anger out of him, "you're nothing now."

The older blond nation waited until America was gone from the room before bending by England's side.

"You know that isn't true," he tried to lift England's chin, but it was stiff and unresponsive, "you've still got Australia, India, … and Canada," he pressed his face softly into England's hair, drawing in his scent.

"It'll all fall apart one day..." England croaked, falling from a crouched position onto his side, looking even more helpless.

He did not even protest when France lay next to him on the floor, moving England against his chest so he could draw in the wonderful smell again.

After a few hours England had fallen asleep, France lay where he was on the carpeted floor, listening to the soft exhales and inhales of breath slipping from the Englishman's lips.

"You've aged L'Angleterre" France whispered to himself, brushing a stray hair from England's face, he knew he himself had aged through this war as well. "Twenty-one and twenty..." He chucked, "when do you think we stop?"

"When it is time to stop" a voice answered.

France sat bolt up right, jumping to his feet between the sleeping English nation and new comer.

"Who are you!" France snarled lightly, reaching for his gun.

"I can tell you something" the hooded figure replied, their voice was brittle but sounded female.

"I don't want to hear anything from you!" France fired a shot, but it went through the woman like she was nothing, her black cloak twisting like mist around her.

"There will be two wars that shake the world, then nothing will be like it was before, and the nations will cry..." Even though France couldn't see, he knew she had suddenly smiled, giving a side glance at England. "Do you know how to kill a nation?"

"I know how Roma did it!" The Frenchman shifted uncomfortably, "you kill a nation by killing its country..."

The owner of the voice laughed, a throaty, plague spreading laugh.

"That is true, but did you know it's possible to kill a nation without even touching the country?"

"How?" France couldn't believe he was asking this question.

"You'll have to ask someone who knows," the voice sounded amused,

"but all the nations who have died are dead!" France gritted his teeth, loosing impatience,

"_All but one..._" The voice was drifting, just like France realised the cloak figure was.

"Wait, tell me more!" France tried to jump at them, but they were already gone.

A muffled cry alerted him that he'd just woken England up.

"Are you okay?" France was by his side in an instant, he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed England had been crying in his sleep.

"J-Just a nightmare..." England closed his eyes again, but this time France pulled him to his feet,

"come on, you can't keep sleeping on the floor..." France didn't really want his country to know he was taking care of the nation they'd just been at war with, which meant there was only one place he could go.

He pulled a cloak from one of the wardrobes, tossing it to England to put over his uniform, before ensuring the hood was up so it covered the easily recognisable eyes.

"Where are we going?" England tried to protest against the positioning of the hood- that was now so low he couldn't see.

France didn't reply, but lead him from the palace, out onto the busy French streets, where people were celebrating the end of the war.

England heard a door open, then felt France lower the hood.

This was the Frenchman's house!

"I can't stay here..." England tried to push past France back outside.

"You're not well" France insisted, blocking his path, tugging the cloak off him, "you are staying here till you're better, you know people are no good at understanding this sort of thing..." He moved England upstairs to one of the spare rooms- the only spare room, usually France and his 'guests' only needed one.

"Thank you..." England murmured, blushing deep red as France flicked off the light,

"See you in the morning" France smiled kindly, closing the door behind him.

"No, wait!" England was surprised by the force that came from his weak throat; he didn't know whether to be relieved or irritated when France did return, looking surprised.

"What is it?" He looked at England closely in the half light that the open door and window cast.

"Stay..." The Brit's voice trembled, but it was determined.

France hoped England wouldn't see his smile in the dark.

"I'll just go and get changed, you do so too..." France remembered how touchy England was about not being seen unless fully dressed- must be a funny British thing he supposed.

When he returned England had pulled on one of France's white shirts- that was way to big for him, and kept his trousers on, feeling he shouldn't really be putting another man's on.

Swallowing hard at the sight of England in his thin nightshirt France clambered into bed next to him. How could he stay here and not touch the younger man?

In a small flicker of light as the branches in front of the window moved away to reveal the moonlight, France swore he could see a flash of many, many scars lacing England's body through the shirt. But every nation had scars right...?

England was still sitting, looking on edge. Holding the nightshirt up around his neck, to stop it showing his shoulders. If it wasn't for the difference in their clothing sizes France would never have noticed how much taller he was than the Brit.

"I'll send for some of your clothes in the morning" France promised, trying not to look too hard at the Englishman.

England relaxed his grip slightly on the shirt collar, letting it slip to his neck in a more relaxed way.

"Why did you support America?" England asked, looking away, shivering lightly.

France fought against the urge to pin England down beneath him, or at least kiss him. "I hated seeing you out of control like that..." the Frenchman admitted, "you'd never have had full control over America again, I just wanted your pain to be over quicker..."

He waited for the other nation's reaction.

England turned back round, his back against the board of the bed, contemplating France's reply. "I'm sorry for what I said when I saw you with him..." He let off a small murmur of a sigh, letting go of the nightshirt completely- though he didn't seem to notice what he'd done.

England's pale bare shoulders were covered in tiny inter-crossing scars, burned into his skin like they'd been deliberately in-bedded in his design.

From what France could also make out of England's back, there were more scars there too.

Was this really why England couldn't stand France trying to undress him? How bad did the scars get?

He'd ignore it for now, he told himself; England was relaxed, he didn't want to disturb that rare moment.

The younger nation shivered again, this time France was sure it was from cold. Placing a hand carefully on England's arm, he led him into a lying position under the covers. He hesitated with his next move, but England gave a short nod; shifting against France as the other wrapped his arms around England's back.

"You can see my scars..." England whispered, noticing his bare shoulders,

"we all have scars mon cher..." France placed a kiss on his shoulder softly, faintly delighted by the shiver that went up England's spine, "you just have a few more..."

Secretly he was wondering how England had obtained so many of the forever lasting wounds.

Tracing England's collarbone carefully before moving his hand back to England's back, France smiled softly. If he could stay like this with England forever, he'd give up everything else...

He shook his head quickly, hoping England hadn't noticed, he didn't love him! Why would he even be thinking such things! Nations didn't love... They only lusted.


	47. Chapter 40

**1787 – The first British convicts head for Australia**

England closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face; he'd left his brother in charge for a few years while he was in France. Everything had run pretty smoothly until Australia had sent a message to Scotland- rather aggressively about the new British policy.

_Just ignore him_ England had written back to the hysterical Scotsman. He knew how bad Australia really could be when he was angry.

_He said if I did he'd come up to Scotland and beat seven kinds of shit out of me!_ Was the reply

_Which one of you owns the other?_ England reminded him. When Scotland didn't reply he answered his own question, "We are Great Britain, owners of the British Empire, that Australia is currently in."

Another blank letter.

"I'm coming back again in a few days anyway." England knew he'd stayed long enough with France, he had his own nation duties to be getting on with, and it was unfair to leave them with Scotland alone.

"You are?" Almost dropping the pen, England realised France was watching him from the doorway of the office.

"I can't stay here forever" England pointed out reasonably, knowing France wouldn't be able to argue with him. Besides, however much the Frenchman tried to hide it from him, England knew something was stirring inside the country that needed dealing with.

France pulled a deliberate sad face, "but I was just getting used to your awful cooking..."

"Really?"

"No," France laughed, "you're right, I've got something that needs sorting anyway..."

"Anything I can help with?" He had been right, something was going on.

Again France laughed, but it sounded forced this time, "it's fine L'Angleterre, nothing I can't deal with on my own. Just some trouble makers, it won't bother any of the other nations,"

"If your sure..." England put down his letter on the desk for one of the servants to take to be sent.

"You've got that look in your eyes mon cher?" France smiled, flicking his fingers over his own eyes and pointing at England.

"You know I keep telling you I'll pay you back some day..." England looked firmly at France, "but this time I mean it, next time I can help I will!"

The determined expression reminded France of a child he'd once known.

"Merci~" France grinned, "but I'm sure I'll be fine."

**1789 – The French revolution**

Whatever it had been France needed to stamp out, he hadn't done it very well. The news was all over the papers today; The French Revolution... About some guy called Napoleon- the story wasn't very clear on exactly what was happening, England was under the impression they didn't actually know.

All that was clear was that the French royal family had just been executed like commoners... like his king Charles I was. But this time it wasn't parliament that had overthrown the crown, it sounded a little like the peasants had rushed into the palace and plucked the family from their beds, even the children.

Many members of the aristocracy had begun fleeing across the channel to his country.

"Gotten himself into a bit of trouble..." Scotland looked over England's shoulder to see what he was reading.

There had been a meeting concerning the future of the Empire, it seemed like things still hadn't calmed down after America's independence had been announced, and now there were discussions about whether to join Ireland into the union of the three other siblings.

"It's sounds scary" Wales agreed, trembling slightly as he saw the headline, "I can't imagine what it's like for the nation..."

England's stomach gave a horrid lurch as he thought of France, but this didn't sound like civil war so it wouldn't have that sort of effect on him...

"Maybe you should go and check it out..." Scotland shot his younger brother a light smirk, "we all know how much you like it over there,"

"What's that supposed to mean!" England snapped, throwing an ornamental plate at Scotland's head- that he neatly dodged.

Scotland and Wales scampered from the room before England could find anything else to throw at them.

But perhaps Scotland was right, he should visit France and see what was going on...

It didn't take long to get to France across the channel, even with the speed the nations had been blessed with. It was just over twenty miles between the closest points between the two countries.

The moment he crossed the border the situation hit him like a wall. Havoc ran through the streets of Callé, it would be worse in Paris...

The door to France's house near the centre of Paris was wide open- broken off its hinges...

"France!" Terror ran his blood cold; he sprinted into the house, trying not to look at the smashed furniture and red liquid that covered the rich carpets- what was left of them anyway.

Pushing open the door to France's room he found it was even worse than downstairs.

The curtains were drawn- plunging the entire room into darkness, the floor was sticky with blood under England's feet, everything was overturned and shredded.

"France?" He moved slowly into the room, peering into the darkness at the still and silent silhouettes, was France in here?

Then something in the far corner flinched.

England bounded towards the figure, doing his best to see in the lack of light.

He almost retreated when he caught full sight of the French nation. He felt sick at the sight. France's clothes were all stained with blood, his neck battered and torn like someone had tried to behead him like the royal family.

"What have they done to you...?" England's voice only came out as a whisper; trying to choke back the taste in the air.

France opened his mouth but more blood was the only thing he managed to produce. Coughing hard France sprayed the ground with it; his blue eyes clouded to almost white.

"R-Revolution" France managed to splutter, his head lolling back against the wall. Whoever had tried to cut through his neck had done enough to damage the nation badly.

"Your people did this..." The younger man's voice was strained, "you were an emotional wreck after your royalty were destroyed... They used that moment of weakness to hurt the untouchable..."

France's eyes blinked. Even though they didn't show anything, surprise was clear on his face.

"How did you know?" He brought a blooded hand up to clutch at England's cheek, "how can people hurt us?" France sounded frightened, "only our bosses and other nations can hurt us like that!.."

England shook his head, "they could even kill us if they wanted to," he spoke slowly, feeling the Frenchman's blood trickling down his neck as France tightened his hold against the side of England's face.

"He said we'll get an Empire..." France smiled distantly,

"Who?" England decided to press just a little more, to get a clearer picture as he could of what exactly was going on.

"Napoleon Bonaparte... He'll get me an Empire, he has plans..." More coughing broke France off, but he returned to what he'd been saying as quickly as possible. "...We'll get one even bigger than yours..."

"What plans?" England tried to pull away from France's grip; feeling the older man's nails hook into his skin, but the Frenchman wouldn't let him go.

"You'll see" France laughed, but it sounded false... Like Russia.

He released the Brit's face, finally letting him go.

"This needs to be stopped," the younger blond broke away a few paces, staring back at France fearfully, "I don't care what it takes, or how long I have to persuade my people, I will get you back to normal."

**1804 – Napoleon declares himself emperor of Italy**

Spain felt his body trembling all over, it was France himself he had said this to all those years ago.

"_If someone took Romano away from me I'd kill them!" _And France had invaded Italy, along with his new leader.

France was nothing more than Russia now.

He would smile, laugh and act normally; but it was too normal. That look that lusted behind his eyes was the look one saw behind the violet eyes of Russia.

"France!" Spain's voice was biting, he was still ready to fight France whatever the cost.

The Frenchman was stood lazily on the border between their countries, Spain knew he'd been expecting him. So he wasn't mad enough not to remember what Spain had made perfectly clear.

"You are going to give Romano back right fucking now!" Spain swung his fist back, punching France to the ground, lifting his scythe at the ready.

"Or?" France's voice was playfully uninterested, he seemed much more interested in the land that lay beyond his own border into Spain's land.

"_I'll kill you_!" The Spaniard hissed, levelling his aim with France's throat, "I don't care how impossible it is, I will just keep hacking until your dead!"

"But you still won't get him back" France smiled brightly, "because my leader would continue without me, he's already tried to hack my head off," France indicated the white lined scars on his throat.

"Give him back!" Bringing the scythe down quickly, Spain dodged France's neck but cut down deeply into the other nation's chest, forcing the point deeper and deeper into his flesh.

A flash of shock passed over France's eyes, but it was clear that the mind he was currently in hadn't registered it.

Spain withdrew the scythe, ready to strike again- this time he would hit the neck.

Then he stopped, moving it away from his old friend, "I owed you a favour..." Spain turned, realising this promice had given him Romano and taken him away from him.

"You can't have him back" France frowned, before fleeing back in the direction of Paris.

"Romano..." Spain felt his chest burn, what would France do to him!

His bordering nation was deep into the madness his people were producing, he could hurt Romano or his brother, or worse...

~/~

"_I've let you down..._" Spain dropped jerkily to his knees, tears spilling from his eyes as he stared up to the heavens, "_I've let you all down, I should be have protecting your kin... Marina_"

"_They're my kin too..._" Spain jumped, feeling a rough a hand resting on his shoulder, for a moment when he turned he swore he'd seen the face of the Roman Empire, but it was gone in a flash.

"Bastard... Wake up..." Romano felt almost ready to kick the Spaniard, the idiot didn't know how hard it had been to sneak out of his own country to get here.

He had been staying with his brother when France had invaded, so he hadn't had a chance to say goodbye, not that it looked like Spain was going to wake up anyway.

"Nightmare...?" Romano watched Spain twitching in his sleep, letting out soft cries every now and then.

"Wake up!" This time the Italian did kick him.

Spain's eyes flashed open, he stared up in disbelief at Romano, who was sitting above him on his bed.

"R-Romano?" Spain's eyes were filling with tears, his voice choking on his words.

"Shhh..." Romano placed his finger on Spain's mouth to silent him, "I don't have long, Italy can only cover for me for so long..."

"I'm sorry, I should have protected you!" The Spaniard spat, the anger at himself paining Romano.

"You couldn't have done any more than me and Italy tried, France's army was so strong..."

"I don't want to be alone again..." The words left Spain's lips like he was still in his nightmare, "I want you to stay..."

Slowly Romano leant down to kiss the man beneath him.

"I can't stay" he apologised, "not for long..."

Spain lunged up to kiss him back, letting it deepen; tongues thrashing against the other's, fighting for the lead.

Romano was pulling his shirt off, bending to help Spain undo his, lacing trails of kisses down the Spaniard's body. He rose to let Spain lean up and do the same for him, leaving red marks all down Romano's chest.

Spain pulled back, eyeing the scars on Romano's body questioningly, but he knew Romano wouldn't answer him, so he carried on.

What he had always been taught in Italy was to make sex last as long as possible, but in this case he just didn't have enough time.

Pushing Spain back down, Romano undid his belt buckle, and Spain's almost at the same second. Plunging one finger in Spain's behind.

Leaning in to quieten Spain's cry of pain as he inserted a second finger, moving it around to make space for the third.

"Romano~" Spain's spoke in a sudden gasp, arching his back into Romano as his prostate was hit dead on. He let out a frustrated noise when Romano withdrew his fingers, but didn't have to wait long for Romano to plunge into him.

Tears sprung to the Spaniard's eyes, his thighs bleeding slightly with the force.

"Sorry..." Romano apologised, rocking his hips steadily and slowly into the Spanish man, only speeding up when Spain began coming up to meet his movements.

He felt Spain take a tight hold of his hair curl, causing him to moan loudly, thrusting harder and faster, meeting Spain's mouth for another high passionate kiss.

The word was creeping into Spain's mind, he had to hold it back; he couldn't let Romano know.

The Italian had lifted the other man's legs slightly for better aim, clumsily searching for the prostate again. Spain felt it shoot through him like a thunderbolt when Romano found it. The word slipped from his mouth.

"Lovino!~"

Romano froze, pulling out of Spain too suddenly. He fixed a shocked glare at the Spaniard.

"How do you know my name!" He growled, beginning to pull his boxers and trousers up again, slipping off the bed to pick up his shirt that had been discarded in the process.

"I-I..." Spain stammered for something to say, his tanned face paling over, "What did I say?" He tried, hoping Romano would believe he'd just heard wrong.

"You know what you said!" The Italian snapped, "you, and your stupid friends must have been listening through my door at some point when I said it!"

"Romano have you ever said your name?" Spain pulled his own shirt back on, doing up the buttons.

The younger man shook his head slowly, "how else could you have known?" He stopped shaking his head uncomfortably to fix another horrid glance at Spain.

"I can't tell you!" The words had left Spain before he could stop them.

"Can't tell me what!" The Italian turned to the door, pausing before opening it- giving Spain a chance to explain himself, but no answer came.

The crash shook the house as Romano slammed the door behind him.


	48. Chapter 41

**1805 – The battle of Trafalgar**

England gave a sideways glance over Austria and Prussia, this was the first time they'd ever fought together on the same side, but only the free countries still seemed to still be in a position to fight France.

Except for Spain and the Netherlands, who had managed to raise up an army to fight against the nation who was trying to absorb them into his own territory.

Sweden and Russia were also there to fight with him.

And Portugal the young nation that looked a bit like Spain was personally patrolling his borders to ensure no Frenchman got across.

France had the other countries he'd taken in his empire to fight with him, including Romano and Italy, plus Poland who had only half complained into it. Again because of that long grudge Poland held against Russia. But nations like Denmark, Norway, The Ottoman Empire, and America were also supporting France.

Growling softly, England clenched and unclenched his fists; what was America doing siding with France, couldn't he see that France's leader was opposing that freedom thing America worked so hard for!

Or was the stupid kid just fighting on France's side because France had supported him in his war for Independence?

Shaking his head, England reminded himself this wasn't just a war for the sake of it; he was trying to stop France's new leader, get rid of the poison that was seeping through Europe.

They had landed in Portugal ready to fight. Spain had assured them this would be the next place France was heading; after invading Portugal he might try and tackle Austria, and Prussia again.

The British troops stood waiting, hopefully they'd have a few days to prepare.

Then, suddenly out of nowhere a blast from a gun was sounded into the air, as France and his ally's armies charged towards them.

England heard his leading commander shout an order to his men. Forming them into a double layered square.

In this position one layer of men could shoot while the others held their bayonets out like spikes to keep the French cavalry back.

In one corner of the battle England could see the southern Italian army grinding into the Spaniards. And to England they seemed to be doing reasonably well.

The younger Italian- although his army was there, he himself had not come into battle; despite the fact his twin was now twenty, Italy was just sixteen, so couldn't fight yet- at least his brother said so.

Sweden was fighting both Denmark and Norway at the same time. While Poland flew again and again at Russia, hopping nimbly out of the way of all of Russia's strikes.

Netherlands had come to Spain's aid- a little reluctantly England might add.

Prussia and Austria were both united for once in fighting Turkey, England knew the Ottoman's had once held Hungary, he wondered if it was something to do with that.

A sudden force hurled England off his feet to the ground.

America stood grandly over him, lining his gun point with England's chest- so America still hadn't forgiven him...

England felt the bullet hit him, pass through him, then he kicked the gun out of America's hands, tripping him in the process.

Scrambling to his feet before America could recover, England bolted back through the fighting crowd, back to the nearest square of men, where hopefully he could join.

Another shot, and his leg collapsed on him; the bullet firing out of the other side of his leg.

"Going somewhere are we?" France leered down, smirking dangerously. England could just about make out the American hovering over his shoulder.

Despite his position England knew his side was winning; the French troops were already being driven back.

"Have to shoot me in the leg to catch me huh?" England forced himself to smirk back, "hope you two aren't slowing down with age..."

"I'm still younger than you!" America snapped, trying to get past France at England, but the Frenchman held him back.

"America I can tell you now, that this is a war that won't be won by your side," the northern blond nation shrugged, feeling a wave of amusement from America's furious look.

"And why not!" The American growled, eyes narrowing,

"because I won't let whatever this is take a hold of France..."

Raising his gun to fire, again America found France blocking his way. When he and England peered closer it looked like France didn't even know he was defending England; some dormant instinct just seemed to be moving him.

"Fuck off!" Prussia shot forward, knocking both France and America to the ground with one sweep; yanking England to his feet and forcing him back to their camp, while flicking two fingers up at the enemies as he was leading the Brit away.

**1809 – Finland invaded by Russia**

"Fuck!" Sweden felt himself shivering in anger; face down in the snow, nose to his own blood. He couldn't even see properly because his glasses had smashed on impact.

He could hear Finland crying only a little way off, Russia smiling cruelly down at him, tightening his grip on the small nation's arm.

"Sweden!" Finland let out a final cry, before with a sickening thump he fell silent.

It tore at Sweden that he couldn't move, he wanted to carry on fighting, to chase Russia back, but he didn't have any strength left in his body.

He and Finland had run away from Denmark together, Sweden even thought they were becoming as close as he'd wanted them to be, then Russia had come along and taken Finland from him.

Painfully Sweden managed to lift his head, creating a blurry image of the tall Russian with Finland unconscious in his arms.

**1812 – Napoleon tries to invade Russia, blood bath in Belarus for the French when they try to cross, America invades Canada**

"What is he doing!" Canada raised his musket to fire again at oncoming American troops, why on earth was America invading his land!

Even worse how could England let him!

Canada knew both England and France were fighting in Europe at the moment, but wasn't America also meant to be fighting over there? How did he have enough soldiers to invade Canada as well!

He winced, feeling his men dropping all round him to the ground, some screaming in agony as the Americans stepped over their bleeding bodies.

"Bastard!" Canada's eyes fixed on America fighting a little way off from him. He pushed through the other soldiers, raising his fist to punch the other nation. He was almost there.

America shot a hand out to block his fist at the last moment, a wide grin covering his face; he bowled Canada to the ground with the mere strength in his hand.

The younger nation felt America's boot press down on his chest like he was a tiger or some other form of prey that a hunter had just shot.

"I'm here now Canada!" America hissed, "You didn't help me with my independence, look on this as pay back if you like!"

"You're invading my country!" The Canadian began struggling to reach his dropped gun, "you're no better than the nation you hate!"

America stamped down hard on Canada's hand, before he could reach the musket, digging his heel down on the nerve, blanking out his old friend's cry of pain.

"I am twice the nation that fucking bastard is!" America bent low to whisper in his ear, pointing his bayonet point into Canada's back, "and I've won this battle."

* * *

France watched his men shivering around him; the temperatures had long since dropped below zero, and what had they arrived to find?

An empty capital with no food. All the Russians had left them with nothing, for fighting against the freezing days and nights.

"We can't stay," one of his generals shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, "there's no food, and the men will starve,"

"Can't we get something from Poland? We're occupying Poland right?" France looked over his shoulder, it didn't seem too far away...

"We would never be able to get things out here quick enough," the general shook his head sadly, "you may be able to, but you'd never carry enough back for all of us..."

France rubbed his temples, if it were up to him they would have left by now, but what would Napoleon think?

They had orders to invade Russia, what would it look like if they retreated now.

It seemed the more disillusioned with the dictator he got, the clearer his mind was. It was now fine enough to see that they had no choice but to retreat.

They'd lost many men crossing over Belarus, the young female nation had personally torn his men in half, defending her border with Russia with every onze of strength in her body. Then getting to Moscow they had lost more soldiers- mostly from the temperature.

And of course the battles on the way had been devastating.

"We'll retreat" France nodded his approval.

**1814 – Italy broken into small feuding kingdoms**

Ever since they'd been invaded by France it seemed to Italy like his brother was moving further and further away from him. He would snap even more frequently, sometimes at Italy as well- something he'd never done before.

Their country was falling apart.

And that dream was becoming more frequent than ever, but the young Italian found that his own nightmares had joined it. Visions of The Holy Roman Empire that night they had spent together falling apart in his arms, crying out in pain.

After that Italy would always wake up crying, but his older brother no longer came to give him a hug and listen to what he had to say.

It was one of those mornings where he'd woken after the nightmare, still able to feel Roma's blood on his hands; his face sickly pale, covered in sweat.

He wasn't in the right mood to even contemplate going to see his brother, so he changed quickly, rushing out of the house before his brother could wake up.

There was every hint that they'd be separated soon, broken into smaller easier to manage countries.

Italy couldn't stop the empty feeling of loneliness that was taking over more of him with every passing day. He had lost his brother, he had lost his old childhood friend to a militaristic ruler, he had lost Roma... Was that what hurt the most?

He found himself wondering north, towards Switzerland's border; he quickly changed direction making sure to skirt the outside of the boundary. He wanted to look around Roma's old land again, just for a moment, he'd be back before France noticed.

He felt an excited wave ripple through his toes to his chest as he crossed the old border between Italy and Roma's old land.

There was no chance of running into Prussia while he was still fighting France- he wanted to keep the French soldiers as far away from his country as he could, so he was hardly going to lead them here.

"What are you doing?" A voice called out to him, Italy looked up to see a boy around his age, maybe younger looking across the planes at him. He looked strangely familiar... Blue eyes, blond hair... But the hair was flattened back, he looked firm rather than scary or shy.

"What are you doing?" The boy repeated his expression turning to a warning glare.

"I was just looking around" Italy told him truthfully, "a friend of mine used to live here."

The boy didn't look like he believed him, and was clearly not going to let him come any further.

"Are you a nation?" Italy tried to make conversation by asking the question he already knew the answer to.

The boy nodded, "I am, and so are you; my name is West, Prussia's younger brother," West recited all this like he'd been taught to say it all his life. But strangely enough the cold tone in his voice, only made Italy more fascinated by him.

"I heard Prussia had found one," Italy had to stop himself saying _another one_; Italy knew Holy Roman Empire's older brother had been Prussia as well; that was probably why he looked similar to Roma.

"He's away fighting at the moment..." West eyed Italy suspiciously, "are you on France's side?"

"S-Sort of..." Italy found he couldn't lie to the other nation, "but we only do because he has our country occupied,"

"So?" The younger boy shrugged, "Spain, and The Netherlands are occupied but they still fight for their freedom."

Italy flushed with embarrassment, he and his brother just didn't know how to stand up to France.

West turned his head, tiring of the conversation, "Go back to your own country" he muttered, turning away.

"Wait!" Italy held out his hand, smiling a little as the other boy turned half heartedly, "my name is Italy, just in case we ever meet again,"

"we won't" The blond boy shook his head, walking away.

"I hope we do..." Italy smiled to himself; suddenly he didn't feel as alone any more. This boy was hardly friendly, but there was something about him that made Italy smile.


	49. Chapter 42

**1815 – Battle of Waterloo, Napoleon driven out of Austria**

Hungary glanced an anxious look in Prussia's direction. True he and Austria had been on the same side, but Prussia must be expecting something from it.

She didn't want to ask in front of Austria in case it embarrassed him.

Prussia had come running down when he'd heard they were under attack from the French troops, why would he run to Austria like that if he didn't get something into the bargain.

The Austrian gave Prussia a swift nod of thanks, giving Hungary a look that told her that he knew she wanted to ask the Prussian something, so he'd leave her alone to do it.

She blushed, Austria was a really nice man; he was kind to her, and always offered her a place in his house when she needed it. A real gentleman, unlike the white haired nation who was standing on her left.

When she was sure Austria was out of ear shot she began.

"Why are you fighting on Austria's side!" She demanded, fixing him with a fierce glare, "you must want something from him, other whys you wouldn't have come down here to defend him!"

She saw a look of surprise stirring at the back of Prussia's mind, but it soon turned to anger- as everything did with Prussia.

"Why wouldn't I be fighting on his side!" He snapped, "am I supposed to let my hatred of that posh idiot stand in the way of helping my friend!"

"friend?" Hungary was confused, was he talking about Spain?

"I can't stand to see what that Napoleon has done to France!" Hungary suddenly realised how tall Prussia was next to her; once upon a time they had been the same height...

"But you came to defend Austria...?" She murmured, still waiting for a second question to be answered.

"_Him!_" Prussia looked horrified, "why would I want to defend him!" He gave Hungary a steady look, "you're country is almost part of Austria, if France had taken him, he would have taken you too."

Her mouth dropped open; was Prussia saying he'd come all this way with his army to defend her? That couldn't be right!

She saw that look again. The look she'd never forgotten.

That hungry, desperate look.

"Prussia, me and Austria are very happy" she quickly reminded him, speaking again in a hurried fashion when Prussia opened his mouth, "we haven't... you know... But he'll propose to me someday... Then we'll..." She went red all over, clutching her face; why had she just told Prussia that?

But the war like nation had looked away, turning to signal his army to return to the west where England, Spain, and the others were still fighting.

"Prussia..."

He turned his head back to her at her call- expression unreadable.

"I don't want us to be strangers... Please come and visit sometimes..." Was she blushing again?

When the smile broke out on Prussia's face, her stomach flipped. His eyes were sparkling with happiness at her invitation, a genuine look of happiness.

"I'll come and visit soon" he promised, "just don't let Austria start playing that stupid piano," he laughed at the look of outrage on Hungary's face. "I'll see you soon" he waved, "when Austria's ready get him over to Waterloo, we're going to end this war once and for all; England's got this brilliant general!"

~/~

Meanwhile the battle at Waterloo had already started.

England was more or less fighting alone, except from some help The Netherlands was offering.

Napoleon himself was at this battle; rounding his people on like sheep.

He'd caught sight of France once or twice, and was relieved to see a look of sense returning to his eyes; he was returning back to normal?

But Britain was losing fast, this was meant to be the last battle of the war. Everything had started off well, but they were beginning to weaken, men dropping all around.

His other allies had been held up in other places, they wouldn't be able to get here in time...

"Für den Sieg!" _For Victory _Words England didn't understand seemed to fly from the sky. Looking all around him, he could see the oncoming Prussian soldiers, back from Austria and ready to keep fighting.

They charged headlong into the battle, firing at the French, their cavalry charging- sabres hung low. The battle would be over before you knew it.

As the battle drew to a close France felt like a weight had just been lifted from his chest. Of course his new European Empire would be taken away from him, but he'd be free again, to carry on with all he had done before the revolution.

Of course he would now ensure he kept his king under a watchful eye. Maybe after a while his country could become like England's, with voted representatives- this being said, England's still needed work too.

"Are you back with us?" He turned his head around, blinking for a moment at the extended hand; then he smiled, taking it gratefully.

"Thank you" he whispered, so the other nations and soldiers wouldn't hear him, he knew England wouldn't tell them.

"Don't mention it," the Brit shifted uncomfortably, motioning Spain and Prussia over.

France's stomach gave a lurch, he knew his friends would need a proper explanation.

"You tried to invade my country!" Prussia growled, though he didn't make forward to grab his old friend.

"I'm sorry" France muttered, quite really having no acceptable explanation to this one, or answer he could give.

But Prussia smiled lightly, placing his hand warmly on France's shoulder, "just wait till I tell you about where I'm now invited unconditionally!"

But Prussia wasn't the only one there, Spain was still scowling at him from a distance, but this time France knew what he wanted.

"Italy and Romano can have their independence" he promised, "... Though they are currently at war with each other so I wouldn't recommend a visit..." Spain still glared at him, there was till something he was waiting for, "I haven't touched either of them" France bowed his head, "I would never."

"Then we have nothing to argue about" Spain laughed, his dark look vanishing in the blink of an eye. He rushed up to join Prussia and France.

England watched the three friends heading back to Prussia's house (the nearest). He was about to turn away himself, when France muttered something to Spain and Prussia before running back to England.

"What do you...?" He was cut off by France's mouth on his. It was a mild but powerful chaste kiss. Time froze for the Brit, something at the back of his mind was screaming how much he'd missed this... But he couldn't let the Frog think that he was this easy.

When France pulled away England gave a low mutter, punching France on the shoulder, "What the hell was that for!"

France laughed, running back in the direction of his friends who were also grinning at one another.

"Bastard!" England shouted after him, but there was a smile playing across his lips.

~/~

"So where are you invited?" France sat himself down comfortably on one of Prussia's plush seats, it was nice to be able to forget the war and laugh with his friends again.

"After..." Prussia paused, France knew what he meant, "well I fought alongside Austria, and Hungary was really suspicious..." He trailed off, the top of his ears colouring slightly, "...Anyway, she said I should come and visit her sometime!"

France and Spain had to laugh, the look on Prussia's face was so happy it just seemed to spread about it's joy.

"Oh, your back..." The three men looked round to see West standing in the doorway. France noted that now he looked older, West seemed a lot less like Roma than he had done while he was younger. His hair was combed flat on his head for a start, he also looked completely drained of emotion- Roma had always been full of that... However he chose to present it.

"Any problems?" Prussia got up to pat his brother on the head, casting a quick and discrete look at his friend's faces.

West narrowed his eyes at France, indicating him to his brother, "what's he doing here!" The younger boy looked like he was preparing to spring at his brother's enemy in the war.

"The war is over," Prussia's tone turned serious, "we can't hold grudges." He gave France an apologetic look over his shoulder.

West still didn't look too happy, but he continued to answer Prussia's original question. "Some boy called Italy wondered over here, but I sent him back," if possible West sounded a little proud of himself.

France and Spain saw a horrified look sweep into Prussia's eyes for a moment, when it passed his tone was still serious.

"And?" He pressed, seemingly forgotten that France and Spain were there.

"And what?" West shrugged, "he was one of those stupid, gentle countries, he wasn't a threat."

The light returned to Prussia's eyes, "Oh well, go off and play or something; Big brother is discussing important things..."

"You'll be going round Miss Hungary's house tommorow morning then?" West turned away, "I've spoken to the servants so they know not to prepare dinner for you." With that the younger nation walked from the room.

The moment he was gone Prussia spun to stare at his friends in amazement, "...how did he know?"

Prussia was still trying to figure out his brother's head the next morning, but he tried to push it to the back of his mind. Hungary had invited him over, so he was coming over.

He'd cross Austria's territory, hopefully avoiding having to make any sort of excuse, he knew if Austria knew he was going to see Hungary then she'd kill him.

"Awesome, Awesome, Awesome me~" Prussia hummed happily, almost skipping through Austria's land, luckily enough it didn't seem like Austria knew or cared that one of the other nations had just hopped over his border like it wasn't there.

But if he didn't go through Austria it would mean passing through Russia's land and territories- not something anyone did while sober.

A blast blew through his insides on crossing Austria's border to Hungary's, but the line itself seemed so faint that Prussia hardly noticed.

How close were Hungary and Austria getting...?

Shaking his head quickly, he mentally scolded himself, he was here to see Hungary, it didn't matter what she was doing in her private time... Or Austria's time.

Austria would never get married, Prussia decided, happily; he was far too proud, Hungary could just keep on hoping.

He knocked on the door enthusiasticly, counting every second it took for Hungary to open it.

"I had a feeling you'd be coming round," she gave him a quick smile, welcoming him in.

Bounding in Prussia suddenly realised even when they were children he'd never actually been in any of Hungary's homes. But he couldn't imagine her old room in the palace being as neat as this.

She closed the door, looking shyly at him. "It's been a while..." She smiled, leading him through to the sitting room, "I'll make us some tea."

Settling himself, Prussia waited for her return. He didn't dare put his feet up on the sofa here like he did at Spain and France's houses.

She had changed so much since they were children, but he could see something deep down and hidden away inside her; that hidden child who had loved sword fighting and beating other nations up.

The Hungary she was today was just like Austria would want a girl to be. Was she like this just to please him?

But she didn't need to be like that around him. He didn't care how she acted, she would always be the same Hungary to him.

"Sugar?" She questioned, reappearing briefly,

"Two" he nodded, straightening his coat out carefully, aware of every movement he made. If being her friend was all he could do, then he'd be the best friend she could want.

She handed him the tea, before taking her own and sitting opposite him.

For a brief moment they just stared at each other, trying to find a topic they could both talk about.

Hungary opened her mouth.

"Don't start the conversation with how was your journey, please!" Prussia begged,

"I wasn't going to!" She snapped back, but she was looking embarrassed all the same. Was this what she had to put up with, with Austria? How boring.

"You're such a girl now" Prussia teased, shielding himself from the pillow the girl was trying to hit him with. He was thankful she wasn't using her infamous frying pan.

"I am not!" Hungary protested before she could stop herself, Prussia laughed at her stricken face; only making her hit him more.

The tea was forgotten, a full scale pillow fight had begun.

**1820 – Franco-Prussian war**

War again!

This time France hadn't started it. Prussia had been bubbling for a fight for ages, he'd just been waiting for an excuse. It was the usual he wanted: Land, money, proof of how awesome he was.

It didn't bother France too much, after all he knew Prussia's brother had a little more influence over this war than Prussia would care to admit.

"Fighting again I see," England strolled into his house without knocking. He had been playing regular visits to France's house the last five years- since the end of the war.

The first time he had even brought an agreement for them to sign promising never to attack each other again, unless the other was acting in an aggressive way. France had signed his name quite happily _above_ England's.

"It's his little brother that's driving this one through..." France shrugged, not bothering to offer England a seat, on account that he'd already taken one.

"Why does Prussia always do what he little brothers tell him to?" The younger blond man sighed, slumping back against the back of the chair, "he doesn't listen to anybody else."

"He's always obeyed them..." France shrugged, "I don't know why... How are Canada and America anyway?"

He saw England look away awkwardly, murmuring something else before speaking, "America invaded Canada..."

"What!" The explosion England had been expecting came. "How could you let him do something like that!"

England narrowed his eyes slightly, "he doesn't answer to me any more, _remember!_" There was a slight hiss at the end of his sentence.

"Right, sorry" France apologised before England could get really angry, "but Canada is still one of yours..."

"I am trying, but Canada says he wants to do it himself..."


	50. Chapter 43

**1821 – Greek war of Independence**

"He'll never let you get away with it..." Egypt warned tapping the younger boy's head. Both Egypt and Turkey had grown older than Greece; though now he'd almost reached the physical age of eighteen he felt he was growing into a position where he could stand up to Turkey.

He knew his people were ready to fight for their independence, they'd been waiting ever since they'd first been invaded. The Ottoman Empire was slowly falling back out of Europe- Greece didn't want to be left behind.

… Not that he really knew anyone else in Europe.

They heard footsteps in the hallway; Turkey was coming.

"Does he know yet?" Egypt asked hurriedly, making to cover up Greece's plans from the approaching Turk.

"Let him know" Greece muttered, motioning for Egypt to come back to his side, he felt it would be better to have someone else there when he told Turkey he wanted independence, and intended to get it whether The Ottomans would give it or not.

"What is going on here!" Turkey demanded, looking at the sheets of paper lying around the room. What were Egypt and Greece doing in the basement?

He caught the Greek's eye, hoping to read what was travelling through his mind, but as usual he had been cast from that privilege for a long time.

"I want independence," Greece spoke slowly; giving his words time to hit with their full meaning, "are you going to give it to me? Or do I need to take it?"

A tension shot through the ground, linking the two nations. Behind his mask, Turkey's eyes were narrowed.

"You want independence?" His voice was dangerously low, Greece felt Egypt step back a little, shaking. "Why should I give you independence?"

"Because I'll fight for it," The Greek kept the same tone, not breaking eye contact,

"_You _fight _me_?" Turkey laughed heartily, "don't kid yourself brat!" His voice suddenly turned nasty, as he made a lunge for Greece.

"Pay back!" The boy growled, pulling his sword from behind his back, driving it deep into Turkey's shoulder. "Let it burn through you, if you want to know how serious I am!"

_Sadik felt sick as he plunged his sword into the boy's shoulder; but it was the only way to stop him- he wanted this to be over quickly._

_He almost recoiled when the child began screaming in pain, but he had to pick him up. Pick him up like an animal._

"I'm sick of you in my country!" The very same child hundreds of years later was shouting at him.

**1829 – Greece under British, French and Russian protection**

Although he disliked asking for help Greece felt it was the only way to ensure Turkey didn't try and attack him again.

He stared hard across the room; two of those nations he could still remember.

The younger one, a blond man, with striking green eyes was one. If the Greek ran his hand over his face he could still feel where that nation as a child had carved those lines into his skin without hesitation.

"Turkey won't mess with all three of us" the older blond one promised, France; the only one who had been hesitant about hurting Greece all those years ago.

"I hope not" Greece nodded politely, eyeing the third and final nation that had offered him help. He didn't miss the fact the other two had drifted a further distance from him than each other.

"My name is Russia" the eldest one introduced, "I have a large empire, a lot of which I took from the Ottomans, I'm used to his armies."

While this did reassure Greece, the white haired man still made his chest clench whenever he looked at him.

**1840 – Canadian act of union**

The boy grinned happily, they'd chased America out of their country a while ago, and now they were unifying the country to protect it against any further threats. America would never get at them now.

"Canada!" He looked round, expecting one of his people, but instead he was bowled over by the very nations who had only just been thrown out.

"What are you doing here?" Canada was too shocked to be angry. Why was America back here again? He didn't look like he was threatening him... The darkness in his eyes during the war had gone, he looked just like the child Canada used to share a bed with.

"Congratulations!" America sweeped him off his feet, spinning him round in joy, "it must be great you're all together now!"

"Umm... Yes..." The Canadian blushed, feeling America's hands still resting on his waist, gripping tight enough so he couldn't get away, but soft enough so he wasn't hurting him.

"We need to go celebrate somewhere!" The older blond announced, shifting one hand so he was now clutching Canada's. He spun him around like in some sort of dance.

"There's this great place I passed on the way here, let's go there!" Quick as a flash he began pulling his friend through the crowd in the direction of a row of shops where Canada knew there to be a few restaurants.

Even though he was confused, he couldn't help but feel happy that his friend was back with him. Of course his people would disprove- it was still to soon after the Americans had left, but Canada didn't care. Why not be selfish for a moment...

**1847 – Switzerland civil war**

"Are you okay brother?" Liechtenstein pressed her hand against Switzerland's forehead, feeling him heating up she applied more water.

Switzerland didn't know quite why she had taken to calling him her brother, but it didn't necessarily feel like a bad thing either.

"I'm fine..." He broke into a fit of coughing.

His country was at war with itself again. Even with his neutrality it did not stop wars inside his boundaries.

"Do war's hurt?" Liechtenstein paused, fixing her young green eyes on his.

She was so young and sweet that it pained Switzerland even more to look at her. She knew nothing of war, she was too small to be effected.

"War does hurt..." He nodded, brushing her long hair from her eyes. He wasn't to keen on staying on the subject in case the girl had even more questions.

She had to be about thirteen now. Her body was just beginning to develop... The Swiss flushed, he should not be thinking about things like that.

"There's a way girls do their hair in my country" he murmured, "do you want me to show you?"

He watched Liechtenstein's face light up with excitement, "yes please!" She turned quickly, sitting in front of Switzerland so he could style her hair.

She felt his rough fingers pass over her neck as he collected her golden hair together.

"But brother we don't have anything to tie it with..." She suddenly remembered, making to go and get something; but the boy placed a firm hand on her shoulder, holding her back.

"You don't need anything for this style" he told her, beginning to fold strands of her hair over one another. "These are called plaits" he explained, making sure they were done together tightly so as not to fall apart.

"Plaits..." Liechtenstein repeated, tingling with happiness, "I like the sound of that..."

Switzerland smiled, the pain inside of him fading.

Until the war was over he intended to stay with the girl. A nation wasn't needed in a war between his own people, and it was best he stayed away.

When he was finished he reached for a stray white flower on the ground beside him, fixing it behind Liechtenstein's ear.

"Beautiful" he grinned, giving her the sign he was done.

She jumped up, running towards the nearby stream to examine her reflection.

For a moment she was still; Switzerland wondered whether she didn't like it, but than she sprinted towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Thank you so much!" She cried, her mouth close to his ear.

Maybe one day... Switzerland folded his own hands on her back, maybe when she was older. But for now he was contempt.

**1849 – Austria takes North Italy again**

Italy did not feel regretful as he was returned to the house he had spent most of his childhood, but he did feel a little sad; he could remember Holy Roman Empire in every room and corridor.

Hungary didn't live in Austria's house any more either, though she visited often there were sometimes whole days when she didn't appear.

"Miss Hungary..." Italy noticed with some delight that he was still taller than her, maybe females stopped growing before boys did.

"What is it Ita-Chan?" She smiled, patting his head,

"Where do you go on the days you don't visit?" He noticed her flinch at the question, but her replying voice was steady.

"I just stay at home, sometimes my other friends drop round..."

"I'd like to meet some of Miss Hungary's other friends~" Italy smiled, causing the woman to laugh,

"You're so cute!" She pulled him towards her for a tight hug.

"I met a boy Hungary" Italy announced proudly when she pulled away from him, "he's a nation just like us!"

"Who is he?" The woman asked curiously, it would be good if Italy could move on from Holy Roman Empire.

"His name's West, I saw him once a while ago, but I see him go past more often now; and he's stopped telling me to get off his land, maybe we can be friends..."

Hungary felt her blood chill. Prussia had told her about his new younger brother. He looked similar to Holy Roman Empire... Was that why Italy was so interested in him?

But he was just as cruel as The Holy Roman Empire in his early days. Prussia had laughed uncertaintly that it wouldn't be long before West took over the whole area of the central Holy Roman Empire- the bundle of small countries between Switzerland, Poland, Denmark, and France.

And if Prussia won the war with France then he would take some of the Frenchman's land too. That would render West the largest country in Europe.

She didn't want to have to tell Italy that... But his brother wasn't on speaking terms with him any more, wouldn't somebody have to warn him...

"Italy, you do know who that boy is, don't you?" She began hesitantly, watching Italy's face for any sign of change.

"He's Prussia's younger brother" Italy shrugged, "so he must be related to Holy Roma in some way, but that isn't why I like him... He just seems like a nice person..."

Nice person! Hungary's shock must have shown on her face because Italy looked suddenly scared.

"Why are you asking?" He asked carefully.

"N-No reason" she stammered back, she couldn't do it...

**1854 – Britain and France prevent Greece from taking Turkish land**

"You can't!" France snapped, glaring in shock at the nation they'd promised to protect, who was now pretty much proposing an invasion of his neighbour.

"Why not!" Greece had grown older very quickly; he was now the same age as France, and a year older than England.

"We are protecting you from Turkey, but that does not mean we will stand by while you try to invade his country!" England joined the argument, and Greece flinched back. He's never been able to shake off his fear of the younger nation.

France pulled England gently away from Greece, he knew what the Greek was remembering, whether England could remember himself or not.

"We can't allow it, I'm sorry..." France's voice was softer, ignoring a snapping England who was demanding as to why he'd been pulled back.

Greece scowled, but he knew the others had their reasons for not wanting war when one of them was already at war with another. Also he supposed it was unfair to attack Turkey while he was fighting against Russia.

"I won't attack him" he nodded at France, "I promise."

"That's okay then" France smiled, giving England another shove backwards.

Greece watched the two men retreat back to the hall.

"What the hell are you playing at!" England demanded, kicking France hard in the shins once they were outside.

"You terrify him L'Angleterre!" France snapped, shooting a nasty glance at the Brit while rubbing his throbbing shin.

"Why on earth do I scare him! I'm protecting him aren't I!" England looked ready to kick him again.

"Don't you remember!" France took hold of the back of England's hair, "Don't you remember engraving marks into that man's face when you were only children! You did it without mercy or sympathy! It was disgusting!"

He noticed the Englishman's face pale slightly, but the defiant look was back soon enough.

"We all had to put up with stuff like that, and we don't go round holding a grudge!" Something was flicking inside England now, his body was twitching occasionally, eyes darting.

"You were frightening in those days!" France argued back,

"I wasn't the only one who's ever been frightening!" Without warning England burst into tears, his twitching turning to trembling.

"Don't cry..." France let go of his hair, making forward to comfort the northern nation.

England fell away from him, crying harder; rubbing his eyes with his fists like a child.

"You have no idea!" The Brit screamed, his voice hysterical, "Going to kill me! Kicking! Hitting! My head hurts! Lost control!" The Brit fell to the ground trembling, eyes wide and fearful.

To France it sounded like mad rambling.

Greece sprinted into the hall, staring down at England in shock.  
"What's wrong with him?"

France fell to England's side, placing his hands either side of the Brit's head. "Focus L'Angleterre!" He called, trying to steady the panicking man.

Greece turned away discreetly as France pressed his mouth to England's forehead, his own tears mingling with England's.

It must be nice to have a nation you're so close to.

...But every memory Greece had of those two they were always fighting... Sometimes these sorts of things were hard to understand.

What would it be like for someone to kiss him he wondered. Sure he'd slept and kissed people in his own country... and a few others, but it didn't seem the same as someone you could stay with forever.

But who would care about him like that...

Turkey's face rose in his mind. He shook it away quickly; completely shocked. Why would he be thinking of that bastard at a time like this!


	51. Chapter 44

**1860 – Lithuanian uprising against Russia. Their language becomes banned.**

The strength of his people brought tears to Lithuania's eyes. He could not be with them, but he willed them on with all of his spirit.

Russia had sent his soldiers in to sort out the protest, he hoped everything would be okay in the end.

"You!" Lithuania snapped his head up.

He had been playing a game of chess with Estonia, while Latvia watched them, but all the Baltic nations scampered back when Russia entered the room. His face was full of anger, not even bothering to try and hide it behind a smile.

"Brother you can't!" Ukraine flew at him from the hallway, but he brushed her aside. Even Belarus who usually followed Russia unconditionally hung back.

The burning violet gaze fixed on Lithuania.

"_I'll kill you_!" His voice was serpent like, eyes narrowed as he sprang at the brown haired boy, hitting Estonia and Latvia towards the door.

Part of Lithuania wanted to beg, but he with his people trying so hard he couldn't. How could he tremble before the Russian when they wouldn't.

"I want independence!" The Lithuanian shouted at him.

For a long while there was silence.

Russia and Belarus looked shocked; Ukraine, Latvia, and Estonia terrified.

Russia threw back his hand, bringing it back to strike Lithuania round the face, stamping him to the floor.

"I'll make you scream tonight!" Russia growled, running his nails down the other nation's face, cutting into him with all his strength.

"Please brother!" Ukraine was still begging, but Lithuania knew her sister was pulling her away.

The boy felt the familiar sensation of his trousers being pulled away, and Russia forcing his hips down; plunging deeply into the other.

His movements were fast, making sure to tear at Lithuania's insides with every thrust.

Tears pricked his eyes, but he would not scream, he would fight Russia, he wouldn't let him get the satisfaction.

His clothes were being ripped away, fingernails clawing at his bare skin, the anger cursing him with every tear.

~/~

It wasn't the first time Poland had seen Russia's nations hovering near his border, but he never saw Lithuania... Why?

Every time he called out to one of them they would only start and flee.

But usually they came one at a time, this time though he could see three pacing the border line together.

One of them was the woman he'd first seen a few weeks after he and Lithuania had been separated. The other two were the upper Baltic state nations that had once been part of his and Lithuania's empire.

It was funny how such a powerful empire had been torn down like that...

But maybe they'd talk to him this time.

"Hey you!" He called out, strolling towards the most stable looking one; a tall boy with a geeky blond haircut, and glasses.

"Estonia" the boy corrected him, adjusting his glasses nervously.

"Why do you guys like keep pacing my border?" Despite himself Poland couldn't help but be a little aggressive in his approach. "What's the matter? Half my country not good enough?"

When the boy didn't reply, Poland realised this was nothing to do with his land, this boy was here to tell him the worse.

"Is Liet okay?" The Polish boy whispered, feeling his heart beginning to race, "please tell me he's okay!"

Estonia shifted uncomfortably.

"What's Russia doing to him? What's he doing to him right now!"

From Estonia's silence he could gather everything he needed to know.

With an outcry of rage Poland made forwards, but the woman who so far had been standing back and watching them, flew forwards to hold him away from the boundary line.

"Your army isn't strong enough; to go against Russia is suicide, especially on your own!"

"I'll get allies!" Poland snapped, trying again to cross.

"They won't support you..." The youngest stepped forward, his whole body trembling, "Russia is a strong opponent to go against, they'd only support you if they thought there was something in it for them... Besides they say something's about to happen... Starting with the western and central nations, I'd try not to let them think you owe them favours if I was you..." The boy stepped back, cowering behind the woman.

Painfully Poland retreated.

"I can't stand not seeing him..." He choked, "does Russia keep him locked up to stop him seeing me?"

Again, silence.

**1861 – The kingdom of Italy formed, The American civil war**

Italy's boss prompted him forwards; motioning him towards the brother he hadn't seen since they'd been split into various kingdoms. But now there was a plan to officially unify them as one country.

"Brother?" Italy stumbled clumsily forwards, tripping on the loose carpet. He felt himself begin to fall, only to find a pair of thin arms around him.

"That's why you need big brother to take care of you" Romano smiled, steadying Italy into a hug, "we'll be together again..."

"Thank you brother," Italy let out a cry, squeezing Romano so hard that his older twin thought he'd suffocate.

That one movement, set Italy's ageing in motion, so when he pulled away, the two were looking at each other as almost identical equals of the same age.

* * *

It had to be four in the morning when Canada was awoken to someone knocking hard on the door. He hoped it was nothing too important, just a drunk who lost his way or something like that.

He was half right at least.

America stank of alcohol- and not the mild stuff either.

"What...?" Canada couldn't even phrase his question; not before America collapsed into his arms, crying loudly.

"It's so unfair!" He sobbed, pulling himself up so he and Canada were face to face. Now they were the Canadian could see the fear in the other man's eyes; a surge of pain seemed to be spreading through him. "I've had to escape, they're all expecting me to fight!"

"Who?" Canada couldn't help but feel he'd missed half a conversation.

"My people! They're tearing each other apart, but I can't take sides, I can't!" He pressed so hard against Canada that the younger man lost his footing and fell back onto the sofa just behind them, America on top of him.

"Don't take sides..." Canada whispered, unawarely bringing up a hand to stroke one side of America's face.

Despite him being drunk America's breath still smelled like it always did. It held a twinge of England's salt water, Spain's warm climate, France's sweet smell, The Scandinavian frost.

"We need to stick together me and you..." America lent into the younger nation's touch, bringing his own hand round to run his fingers through Canada's thick blond hair.

He closed the space between them with a slow kiss, bringing his last wavering hand to join the first, while Canada's spare hand clutched the other side of his face.

Their tongues twisted together, hot and passionate.

America pulled away, proceeding to kiss down Canada's neck, pulling his nightshirt down as he went, leaving small red marks where he licked and sucked.

"Gah!~" Canada felt a ripple of pleasure shoot through him when America's mouth reached one of his nipples.

"I love you," America came back up to fix the Canadian's mouth in another kiss, "Canada..."

"Matthew..." Canada blushed, remembering the name that America had given him when he was only a child. He had been told never to tell anyone by France, but he felt like he should at this moment.

America grinned, grinding his hips down on Matthew's erection.

"Alfred..." The American whispered, sitting up to let Matthew undo the buttons on his own shirt.

He undid his own flier, kicking off his trousers quickly, pulling Matthew's own down, flecking his tongue over the erection.

He heard the Canadian pant, thrusting his hips to meet Alfred's mouth.

"Do you have any oil?" Alfred murmured, running his hand along the length, enjoying the look on Matthew's embarrassed blushing face.

"O-Oil?" The boy stammered.

So adorable~ Alfred began to pump his hand faster, "It'll make it easier..."

"I-In the cupboard..." Matthew let out another soft gasp.

Alfred got off the sofa, running to the kitchen practically knocking everything off the shelf in his desperation.

Finding what he was looking for he ran back with the bottle, emptying it onto his hands as he went.

He'd had sex with many humans before, but with Matty it felt like it was going to be different; he wanted the boy more than anything else in the world.

He plunged back onto the sofa, turning Matthew around so he was lying on his chest, before lifting the other's hips so he could get his fingers in properly.

"W-What are you going to do?" Matthew trembled, feeling America's sticky hands hesitating outside his entrance.

"This might hurt..." One of Alfred's fingers slipped into him, wriggling to make room for a second finger to join it.

The oil felt strange inside Matthew's body, and it hurt; he was getting the impression that America was rushing his stretching a little.

The last finger was in.

… It felt like Alfred was searching for something...

"Alfred!~" Matthew felt the other's name scream from his lips, as the American smugly managed to hit the point he'd been looking for.

The fingers withdrew now America had found his mark.

He carefully sat Canada down on his lap, positioning his own throbbing member inside of him; thrusting upwards immediately before he forgot where it was.

"Ah~" Matthew's moans were coming thick and fast, soon Alfred's own had joined him.

"Matty!~" He began thrusting harder, hitting the prostate harder and more accurately.

"I-I'm going to...~" Matthew let out a loud cry as he cummed onto his and Alfred's lap, Alfred soon followed inside him.

They stayed there limp for a little while before falling down on the sofa together, to exhausted to speak.

* * *

"Why don't you speak to Spain any more?" Italy asked. The two brothers were sitting next to each other on the sofa of their new house while their bosses looked over agreements.

Romano gave a small huff, "He's hiding something..."

"What could he be hiding?" Italy tilted his head, "whatever makes you think that?"

"He knows my name..." Romano shook his head, "he said it by accident when we..." He trailed off, blushing wildly, "...You don't need to know about stuff like that..."

"Romano... I'm not a virgin, I know what you're talking about..." He glanced away, feeling his brother's heavily questioning look fall on him.

"Who...?" He opened his mouth then closed it, "no, you don't need to tell me, I know..." Romano knew Italy had loved that control freak bastard, but he hadn't guessed they'd actually had sex.

Dropping the subject, he touched his brother's shoulder.

"Have you had that dream again?" He asked quietly, "mine seems to have gotten worse recently..."

"In what way?" Italy tilted his head, he had dreamed the dream again, but it hadn't changed; Romano seemed to have seen so much more than him.

"That boy... The one we both see but don't know... After he's handed me over he says something to father... I can't remember what, but then father hits him across the face... Such a horrible noise..." Romano rubbed his eyes quickly, "I wonder what happened to him..."


	52. Ages 7

Greece – 23

Turkey – 25

France – 23

Spain – 23

Italy – _20_

Romano – _20_

Austria – 24

Japan – _21_

England – 22

Ukraine – _27_

Belarus – 18

Russia – _25_

Denmark – 22

Norway – 21

Prussia – 24

Germany – 18

Hungary – 22

Poland – 18

Lithuania – 18

Switzerland – _18_

Taiwan – _20_

Korea – _16 _

America – _19_

Sweden – _21_

Finland – _20_

Canada – _18 _

Belgium – _19_

Netherlands – _22_

Liechtenstein – 13

*Those in Italics have reached their full age


	53. Chapter 45

**1865 – The American civil war ends; victory to the northern states**

"The north won Matty!" Canada had no time to brace himself before America whisked him off his feet, spinning him around like a child. "The war's over! Slave trade is bad okay!" He gave a whoop of joy.

"Congratulations" Canada smiled, feeling a small throb, this meant that Alfred would be going home soon. The American had spent the civil war years with him.

"I'd better get going, they'll all be going crazy without me; I've already packed don't worry," he gave Matthew a quick peck before racing off, "I'll see you around!"

He was gone, just like that...

Was that all Canada had been to him the last two years; Comfort, a shoulder to cry on... Had he really loved him?

Feeling his eyes beginning to spill the Canadian rushed back inside his house, pulling Kumajirou from under the covers of what had been his and America's bed.

He pressed his nose to the soft white animal fur, crying softly.

"Who?" The bear asked softly,

"Canada" he replied.

**1867 – Prussian victory in Franco-Prussian war, Canadian independence, Austria-Hungary formed**

"We did it!" West grinned triumphantly, looking to his brother for praise, but Prussia's face was passive as he stared across the field at France.

His brother had shot him through the stomach, and the blond nation was coughing up blood as his men carried him back.

"This whole area is ours now!" West tried to prompt his brother again.

Prussia looked down at him, staring at his brother slowly. "I've just had a feeling that something awful is coming" he whispered, blinking uneasily.

"Don't worry" West laughed, "whatever it is we'll chase it off easily!" He fired a few shots into the air to speed up the French retreat.

"I hope so..." Prussia patted the young man's head.

West still behaved so much like a child when he was excited, sometimes it was sweet, but other times Prussia could see that the boy was perched on the edge of madness. But that couldn't happen, Prussia wouldn't let it happen.

"The power is shifting away from France, Spain and England; it is rising here and in Austria and Hungary!" West announced.

"Austria? Why Austria?" Why even Hungary for that matter?

West rolled his eyes, "haven't you heard, there's going to be a union between those two countries..."

Prussia stiffened, "what sort of union?"

"They're going to make one country together, an Empire; pretty much through marriage, I think it's meant to be tommorow..." West stopped, his brother was looking edgy- a rage building inside of him.

He turned suddenly, running away from France, back over the land he and his brother were trying to unify.

Austria and Hungary's empire now spread out to touch West's, meaning hopefully he could get there quicker without having to pass Austria's house.

They'd probably be building a new one for Austria and Hungary to live in together; but he knew Hungary well enough, she'd spend the night before the marriage at her own house.

The very thought of Austria being the first one to touch her like that made him sick. She was _his_, and whether she liked it or not he was having her first.

Why hadn't she mentioned this engagement to him!

Had she not trusted him enough!

Or did she know what he might do? Did she want to know Austria was protecting her before he found out?

He forced himself to knock softly on the door.

If he didn't Hungary would know it was him and ignore it.

The sky outside was getting steadily darker, but hopefully it wasn't too late for her to be suspicious. She'd think it was just a late arrival wishing her good luck.

He heard footsteps coming towards the door, then it open at a regular pace. She didn't suspect a thing.

The moment it was open Prussia forced himself inside, pushing her backwards, slamming the door behind him.

"Prussia!" She gave a small scream of shock, regretting immediately that she'd given the servants the night off.

"When were you planning on telling me huh!" He hissed, grabbing her hair, pulling her towards him. "Just before the wedding? After the wedding? After he'd bedded you!"

He ignored Hungary's pathetic crying, striking her hard around the face.

"I didn't know how to tell you..." She sobbed, covering her face with her hands as Prussia lifted his fist to hit her again.

"How can you marry that prat!" He was forcing her backwards, deeper into the house, "I could deal with you pining after him like a love struck child, I told myself being your friend was good enough... But I won't let him have you first!"

"Prussia, what are you doing!" She felt him grab her wrists tightly, cutting of the blood supply.

Her bedroom! They were heading towards her bedroom!

Struggling she tried to kick him away.

Somehow it had always worked before when they were playing, but now it was like he couldn't even feel her.

He'd forced her backwards through the doorway.

Kissing her roughly, tearing at her lips with his teeth.

However much it hurt, she could feel his pain and feeling of betrayal behind every movement.

He was forcing her down on the bed.

Trying again Hungary tried to push him off her, but the Prussian tightened one hand around her throat, using the other to undo her blouse.

"I'll scream" she managed to choke, digging her nails into his hand.

Prussia released her throat with a flourish, licking the blood from the back of his hand with his tongue.

"Scream then..." He smirked, cupping one of her breasts beneath his hand, stroking the nipple with his thumb, "I can feel you're enjoying this..."

He stuck his hand up her skirt, stroking the wet front of her panties.

Grinding down on her, he felt it grow damper.

"You just can't come to terms with this!" She tried to persuade him, "you're a good friend, and always have been..."

"Is that why you kissed me back all those years ago!" Prussia was beginning to lose it, his red eyes growing darker.

Lightning suddenly cracked outside. Her country was reacting to how she was being treated.

In the sudden light she could have sworn she'd seen to outline of Prussia's bones, like he was transparent, veins clinging to one another like they'd been forced there.

"Why aren't I good enough!" He demanded, pulling his trousers down at the same time as her skirt, "I'm not a real nation! I never was! They forced me to be one!"

The paleness of Prussia's skin was becoming more apparent to Hungary with every streak of lightening. His white hair was unhealthy and wrong, it wasn't even like Russia's... Something just seemed unnatural about it. His red eyes were strained and soulless.

"I was created for one thing! Just one! I would be loyal to my brother!" He pulled her panties down, thrusting down inside of her.

Hungary screamed, feeling herself stretch. Surely Austria would have been softer and more gentle for her first time...

"I would fight for him! I would always come to his side!" Prussia gave his own involuntary cry of pain. "He... West..." Prussia shook his head, "you don't understand!"

"H-Help me to..." Hungary managed to whisper through her tears.

Prussia leaned down to kiss her, more softly this time. Slowing his thrusts, letting her adjust, before continuing to rock slowly, kissing her mouth lovingly. Tears streaming down both their eyes.

"I'm a monster..." He murmured in her ear, "they should never have made me..."

Hungary felt him release inside of her.

But she knew that she didn't have to be worried about children. Nations couldn't have children with other nations, even with people it very rarely happened. In fact the Italy twins were the only sign it was possible at all.

They panted heavily, pressing their forehead together; hot with sweat.

"I know you won't ever love me..." He pulled out of her, rolling over to lie beside her, "I'm really sorry..."

Feeling an odd surge go through her Hungary turned to face him, catching his lips deliberately in her own.

The hardness against her leg told her Prussia was still aroused, he didn't want to finish yet.

He seemed surprised to find Hungary kissing him, but opened his mouth for her tongue without her needing to ask.

"Just tonight..." Her voice came in heavy aroused pants, would it be like this with Austria?

She felt Prussia re-instate himself within her. She only hoped she wouldn't be too stiff for the wedding tommorow.

* * *

"You did it!" Alfred burst through the door, "congratulations! You're independent!" He flew across the room, kissing Matthew briefly, "have you got any champagne or something?"

The Canadian opened his mouth, this was the first time he'd seen America since the civil war had ended; and now he'd just shown up like he'd been gone a few days.

"How did you do it?" Alfred found what he was looking for, and re-emerged from the cupboard, "was there a war, did you beat that English bastard up?"

Canada shook his head, "He bumped into him in the hallway last time he was here, and just asked him for independence... First he thought I was you and thought I was being cheeky, but then he realised it was me and just shrugged, saying 'sure, whatever'"

"That was it!" America bounded onto the sofa next to his northern neighbour, "you just asked?"

"Yep," Canada was happy he'd taken America by surprise now, "I think he was in a reasonably good mood or something."

"How did he seem?"

"Cold, distant..."

"...Yep he was in a good mood."

* * *

"Are you okay?" Austria glanced over at his new wife worriedly, as she gave another painful wince.

They were sat comfortably in the garden reception after they'd take their vows.

"Fine!" She replied quickly, her voice strangely high, hopefully the Austrian would just think it was the wine.

He leant closer to her, whispering in her ear, "you know it always hurt the first time, I just thought I'd warn you..." Hungary's face flushed, though it wasn't for the reason Austria thought.

Four times! Four times! No wonder she was so stiff; though technically she didn't consent to the first.

A guilty feeling shot down her stomach, she couldn't tell Austria... She'd just have to hope that last night would make her muscles hurt enough for Austria to think it was the sex.

Would her and Austria ever have sex that many times in one night...?

Prussia had left early in the morning, before she'd even woken up.

He'd left her a note; reading: _Morning, from the awesome me; sorry about last night, need to get back to West now before he starts a world war, haha – Like that'll ever happen._

"Would you like to go up now?" Austria had mistaken her fidgeting for eagerness. Not that she didn't want to sleep with him! She'd been dreaming of that ever since she'd discovered she was a girl, but had she done something sinful by sleeping with Prussia the night before...?

It was so confusing!


	54. Chapter 46

**1888 – Germany formed**

Prussia looked up at where his brother stood at his window. It had been signed; he was no longer nation of the country. Of course his brother still gave him a position in the East; where his original boundaries had been.

They would be like Italy and Romano he supposed.

West had renamed himself Germany after the new country that he had formed.

He was ambiguous, almost as much as their new leader Kaiser Wilhelm I. Prussia knew both of them had intentions of creating an empire to rival France and Britain's. Thankfully this time it looked like they were looking outside of Europe, rather than invading the neighbouring countries...

But he also knew England and France would not take so kindly to it, especially if Germany tried to move in on one of their colonies.

"We'll become the most powerful country in the world now!" Germany gave a growl of triumph, before taking a deep breath and collecting himself, "I'm a full nation now, I can't keep acting so childishly..."

Prussia wondered whether Germany had thought of that himself, or if the Kaiser had just told him so.

"France and Britain are still pretty powerful" the older German nation laughed, patting his brother's back, but he pulled back a little when he saw Germany's excited eyes narrow,

"for now" he agreed.

**1889 – The Eiffel tower built**

"Isn't it Magnifique!" France gave an excited spin, pulling on England's arm to come and see the finished tower.

"It is pretty impressive..." The Brit began, looking up in wonder at the metal structure, "... But Big Ben is better," he stuck his nose in the air, refusing to believe the Frenchman could do something better than him.

"Do you want to see from the top?" The Frenchman was practically bounding with excitement, he had pulled England towards the entrance without even waiting for an answer.

"France, I'm not sure..." England glanced up at the dizzyingly high point at the peak. Were they going all the way up there?

"It'll be great, like flying!" They were running up the first flight of stairs, France still pulling England most of the way.

"Flying..." England imagined himself with a pair of huge white wings, soaring as high as the top of the tower, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all...

The staircase opened up to a platform. It looked pretty high, but he was sure he could manage this...

"Come on" France tugged at him again,

"Where?"

"We're not at the top yet" France laughed.

Feeling his heart elevate right into his throat, The blond fought back a choke, having to mentally force his feet forwards. He couldn't back out now...

"You know L'Angleterre..." France paused in mid-step, beaming down at the other nation, he paused, while England waited for him to finish the sentence, still trying to hold in what he'd eaten that morning in the French café. "...It's nothing," they carried on up the stairs.

"I think we should be getting down for lunch..." England tried an unconvincing laugh, checking his watch. Even though it was a well known fact that the Brit hardly ever ate lunch.

"Scared?" France teased, "we're almost at the top..."

"I'm not scared!" England snapped, pushing on ahead.

"Then look down" The Frenchman smirked, "the view is wonderful."

The Englishman swallowed, "I'll look when we get to the top..."

"I'll hold you to that," France pulled him up the last few steps.

It didn't take them that much longer to reach the top.

France prodded England forwards daringly, "go on then, take a peak." England glared at him, but he knew their was no way out of it now. He began edging slowly towards the edge, tilting his head ever so slightly, he only needed to look once.

How France could seem perfectly at ease, waiting for him already looking down England would never know.

He looked down.

His head spun. The people were like ants at the bottom.

"Steady!" France suddenly lunged at him, pulling the younger man away from the edge, "careful!" He placed his hands on the Brit's thin waist to steady him.

"P-Pervert" England managed to stammer, closing his eyes tightly when France pressed their foreheads together.

"You need to eat more..." France's hands ran up the other nations sides lightly, grinning when he saw the Englishman shiver. He kissed him gently, "first kiss on the Eiffel tower L'Angleterre, and you just shared it with a Frenchman!"

"Piss off!" England growled, but France still kept him balanced, "do you really think this new nation Germany will start causing problems?" He let France stroke the side of his face gently.

"He's all talk, it'll never come to much."

**1897 – Greek financial collapse**

"Shut-up!" The Greek spat, glaring over at the Turkish man who was stood nearby giving him a wide grin.

"I didn't say anything" Turkey shrugged, "I just came over to ask if you needed any help?"

"Help!" Greece's tone was even more angry than the first time, "why would I want help from you!"

Turkey had to admit that hurt, but it was understandable.

"I don't want to see you collapse..." Turkey lowered his tone to let Greece know he was being completely serious,

"like hell you don't!" The other nation indicated the door, "thank you for coming!"

"But..."

"_I said _thank you for coming!"

**1898 – Spanish-American war**

America smirked as the Spaniard gave a hiss of anger, almost managing to reach for his gun again, but Cuba had kicked it away.

"We want Europe out for good okay!" The Cuban gave Spain his own kick before turning away with the gun to a safe enough distance where Spain couldn't reach it.

America lifted his foot, pointing the gun at Spain's head, "not so tough now, are we?" America laughed.

Spain suddenly shot upwards, unflinching to the bullet America had just shot through the side of his head.

He plunged the American to the ground, pulling a weapon America hadn't noticed before this moment; a bloody scythe. He let out a cry as Spain cut it down his chest, his face like the one he'd wanted when Spain had fought with him for his independence.

Cuba fired at Spain, hurriedly trying to protect his ally.

The bullets seemed to hold no effect, as Spain's hands closed round America's throat.

With a grunt America managed to push him off.

Spain lost his last onze of strength, eyes closing.

"Don't you see!" America knew he couldn't hear him, but it needed to be said, "this is our place now, we don't need you old Europeans to babysit us!"

He almost shot back again when Spain let out a throaty chuckle, letting the blood fall from his mouth, "your welcome to it, if you want to take over what we've begun be my guest, but I warn you Europe was not the first, and you will not be the last. War eventually will kill us all."

"I said nothing about us going to war!" The American kicked him uneasily,

"If you want to be what we were, you can't avoid it."

**1900 – The Triple Alliance formed**

Hungary blinked anxiously across the room.

She was stood beside Austria, facing Prussia, Germany, and the two Italian brothers. They were signing an agreement.

Austria assured her it was just to protect themselves from the Russians and the French that had already signed an agreement.

She was in an alliance with Prussia... Could she manage that?

Just looking at him she could still remember every place she'd kissed and touched, like a map in her mind. She could see him glancing at her too; similar thoughts running through his own head.

Italy smiled happily at Germany as he signed the alliance, stepping aside so his brother could sign his own signature next to it.

Hungary knew for Italy this was to avoid war; neither brother wanted a fight, but sometimes it seemed almost like Germany was just waiting for one to break out.

Rumour had it that someone in his country had already written out a plan to invade France and Russia, of course with the obvious assumption England wouldn't get involved.

Everyone knew that the British nation was fine so long as no one bothered him, and surely bothering Russia and France wouldn't irritate him. Besides what could the tiny island army do.

_Two wars that will change the world as you know it, and at the end the nations will cry._

Words that every one of them in that room could hear burning into their heads, but all chose to ignore it.

Hungary and Austria signed their signature together, completing the last names in the Triple alliance. War would never happen.

"How are you doing?" Prussia caught up with her after the meeting, obviously having caught her while Austria was talking to Germany.

"Fine thank you," she was surprised how easy it was to talk to him after what had happened before her wedding night, but Prussia seemed to be treating it like nothing had happened.

"Do you really think this will avoid war!" She suddenly spun round to face him, grabbing the front of his shirt, stopping them both in mid-stride. It looked like Italy was the only one who spotted them, but he wouldn't tell Austria.

Prussia shifted uncomfortably, checking over her shoulder to be sure the others were out of sight. He kissed her gently, "I hope so..."

**1904 – The Entente signed**

France suddenly lunged out, kicking the table in his annoyance.

All England had noted was that Russia seemed to be round France's house a lot more often than most nations would have liked, though it didn't look like an aggressive action.

"What's wrong?" He sighed, folding his paper and glancing up at the Frenchman from his seat.

In recent years England had adopted what he called manors, that he tried to stick through thoroughly; calling himself a gentleman and so forth.

"I swear Germany is trying to provoke me!" He snapped, kicking another piece of furniture, "he keeps hopping over my border as if it isn't there!"

England nodded his head, "is this the whole war thing Europe that is trying to avoid, glad I'm not involved."

"You are in Europe" France reminded him testily. That was another irritating thing England had decided on recently; that he and his country had nothing to do with 'European affairs'.

"Besides..." England shrugged, like he hadn't heard France, "Germany's just strutting about because he's a new country, things will settle down quickly, and if they don't they won't bother you, or any of the other rich nations."

"And what if they do?" France challenged, forcibly removing the paper from the Brit's hands.

They stared at each other a moment before England replied solemnly, "I'd protect you with my life." He pulled out a sheet of paper, writing what he'd just said on it, then signing his name before handing the pen to France.

France signed slowly, glancing up at the Englishman's face every now and then to check for a catch, but there wasn't one.

"I already have an agreement to keep Belgium neutral," England folded the signed paper, putting it carefully in his pocket, "I don't want anyone on my doorstep being effected."

"So cold L'Angleterre" France laughed, hopping down into the seat England had just been sitting on, pulling the other onto his lap, stroking his hair softly. "Like I'd ever let anything happen to you either. We need each other England; oldest enemies and oldest friends."

"Shut-up Frog" the Brit sniffed, bending into France's touch.


	55. Chapter 47

**1905 – Ukraine can speak its own language again**

"A-Are you sure?" Ukraine let her brother's words wash over her,

"Of course sister" he smiled, patting her head, "I'm sorry I've been so mean..."

"It's fine..." She looked over her shoulder at where the Baltic states were shivering on the opposite side of the table. Was Russia turning over a new leaf? Did that mean he'd be kinder to them to?

"What about me!" Belarus demanded, fixing herself on her brother's arm, tugging angrily,

"B-Belarus!" Russia jumped, absolutely terrified. It was almost like when they had all been living together... Ukraine had to stop herself from laughing.

"I-I'll get you something nice next time I'm in town" Russia promised the younger girl, pushing her off his arm tentatively.

"Good!" Belarus folded her arms, and pouted.

Finishing his meal Russia put down his knife and fork, fixing his gaze on the Baltics.

No! Ukraine used to protest when this happened, but she soon learnt it only made it worse for the ones she was trying to protect.

Russia pointed slowly at Estonia who gave Russia a glare- he was the only one who seemed to be able to get away with it.

Lithuania and Latvia gave him a sorry look, before fleeing from the room.

Ukraine was actually revealed that it was Estonia, Russia got bored with him quickly, so never hurt him much; Latvia was so small that it always made her feel sick; and Lithuania was so bruised and beaten that he probably couldn't take another tonight.

**1909 – The Sultans in Turkey stopped**

It would be a new type of leader Turkey smiled to himself. It was the end of the Sultan tyrannical rein.

Even Greece had drifted over the border to see the celebrations.

Of course they weren't a democracy yet, but they would get there. He knew it couldn't be forced on the people, it was something that needed to be introduced slowly.

"Hey!" Turkey suddenly spotted Greece hovering near one of the stalls in the crowd. The younger man started when he saw the Turk, looking like he was almost ready to turn and flee, but he stood his ground.

"Do you want something?" Greece shrugged, turning the opposite way,

"Not really" Turkey beamed, "it's been ages since you've been just to visit..."

"I'm not visiting! I'm just making sure nothing goes wrong!" The Greek gave him a hard punch, "Idiot!"

Turkey laughed, patting him on the back, "come on, I'll show you our new leader so you know there's nothing to worry about," he gave his arm a tug, pulling him through the crowd to the front.

"Why do I want to see your stupid leader anyway!" Greece tried half-heartedly to pull back, giving up though when Turkey didn't reply.

**1914 – The Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand shot. The start of World War 1**

It was the shot that vibrated through the world. The spark that everyone had been waiting for. The heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne had just been shot by a Serbian activist, Gavrelo Princip, and had died before reaching the hospital.

The chain had begun.

Austria and Hungary announced war on Serbia, so Russia announced war on Austria-Hungary, leading to Germany's involvement, then France.

The Schlieffen plan had been set in motion; the plan for Germany to invade France through Belgium in six weeks before turning their attention on Russia. It was their belief that Russia would take six weeks to mobilise, and that Britain wouldn't care.

~/~

England heard his phone ringing in the outside hall. The shrill fell on his ears; deep down he knew what it was, but that didn't mean he had to believe it.

"Hello?" He answered the call like any other, swallowing hard, knowing he had his secretary poised on the other phone just in case.

"England!" A girl screamed down the line, her voice pained and panicked; he could hear heavy men's voices all around at the other end of the line; gun shots, and anger.

"Belgium, are they there!" He knew his secretary was now dialling the number to parliament.

"I've already called France, but he isn't ready!" She let out a sob, "I don't know how much longer we can hold them off!" With another cry the line went dead.

England hesitated with the phone to his ear for almost a minuet.

Putting the phone down slowly, England tried to get a hold on himself as the world slowly began to spin. They were at war. A world war. His and France's colonies would be coming over, he even had an agreement with Canada for help when he needed it.

"We need to get to Belgium now!" He suddenly exploded. This war needed to be over quickly, other whys this could be the worse war they'd ever faced.

Those words he had heard over and over again since France had told them to him all those years ago were echoing faster than ever. If this was the first, what was the second?

He hadn't believed the Frenchman when he'd first told him of a prophecy he'd heard along these lines, and he had thought it impossible that Germany would attack them.

His people just didn't seem to move fast enough!

What if Germany was already at France's doorstep! What if he'd already invaded!

Not waiting a moment longer England sprinted from the house, moving in great leaps and bounds towards the sea. He'd just have to get there first, his 'contemptible little army' could catch up.

All the way over the ocean he had to stop himself moving in the direction of France. He needed to get to Belgium first.

Feeling for his rifle at his feet, England sped up; trying to paddle with one hand.

He could feel that his army had just left the shore and were on their way too, they would stop Germany! They had to!

When he arrived in Belgium it was just as awful as he had imagined it would.

People were dying everywhere, whole towns had been destroyed by the canons. What had once been believed to be the strongest fortification wall in Europe lay in ruins.

He hit the ground as bullets flew over his head. Moving his way along the ground searching for the Belgium nation. He needed to get her out, maybe she could stay with her brother.

Germany was stood with his men, firing more shots than any other. The northern Italian nations stood fearfully behind him. England knew Italy of all nations had not wanted an actual war to break out.

"Germany you can stop killing now..." Italy placed his hand on Germany's tense shoulder, a pleading look on his face.

Whether it would have worked or not they didn't find out, because England's army had just arrived.

With soldiers to back him up England made a lunge for the blond girl lying amongst her men. Germany gave a start as he saw England leap from the bodies.

"Was zur Hölle!" _What the Hell!_ The German fired at England; missed, and tried again.

"You came..." Belgium smiled weakly at him, groaning in pain as he lifted her up,

"Of course," the Brit turned to run towards her northern border, "after all I never ignore a 'scrap of paper'"

He knew she would have laughed if she hadn't been so weak. He would drop her off quickly then rejoin his men.

"Can you stand?" He muttered, realizing suddenly that he couldn't knock on Netherlands' door with her in his arms. She gave a weak nod, managing just about to balance herself against the nearby post.

Knocking hard on the door England gave a frantic look over his shoulder. They were being pushed back in Mons, they were being pushed into France. He needed to get back now!

"What?" The door opened, Netherlands didn't seem to amused by his sudden arrival, "why are you here?"

England pointed quickly to Belgium before sprinting off.

The Netherlands almost fell straight back through his door when he caught sight of the girl.

"What did that English bastard do to you!" He demanded, helping her through the door, running to fetch some water and the first aid kit.

"H-He helped me..." She coughed violently, trembling all over, "Germany invaded..."

~/~

England sprinted with all of his might. They'd had to retreat from Mons, and started digging in along the border of France, they needed to get to the sea before Germany did. They were so close to France now that England felt like it could be his own border.

Had France managed to join the battle yet?

How many of his men were dead?

Oh God, what would happen if they dug in and just stayed there!

**1915 – Italy changes sides**

"Germany..." Italy approached his ally slowly. In the trench dug outs it forced them to be a lot closer than they usually would have been.

Italy tried to hide his flush as he felt their chests press together.

...He even felt like Holy Roma...

Italy shook his head, he had to remember this was Germany!

His brother was already signing the agreements with England and France, he had to get this over with quickly. Why had his brother left this job to him!

"What is it?" A strange feeling was swirling in the solemn man's stomach; he looked down at the Italian who before he hadn't really taken much notice of.

He watched Italy squirm uncomfortably, trying to take a few paces back- then finding he couldn't.

"Italy?" Something was definitely bothering him.

"M-Me and Romano..." He stammered, quivering, "we're c-changing sides..." Italy tried to flee the moment the words had left his mouth.

Germany grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back.

"What!" He snapped, fixing his cold blue stare on Italy, "you can't change sides!"

"Romano's signing the papers..." Italy suggested hoping that would work.

"I don't care!" Germany's hand slapped hard across his face; so powerful it almost knocked him to the ground.

Germany drew back his hand to hit him again, then heard a whimper. A pair of frightened brown eyes were looking fearfully up at him, tears threatening the edges. Another strange wave hit him, why the hell was this boy doing this to him!

"Get out!" Germany spat, grabbing Italy's arm and throwing him from the dugout, "Get out and stay out!"

"I'm sorry..." Italy whispered, before turning to run down the trench line. He almost felt angry at Romano for making him do that.

**1916 – Battle of the Somme, and Verdun**

"Fuck this!" France let out a sudden angry frustrated yell, retreating back inside his and England's dug out- right in the centre of the Western trenches.

England followed him slowly inside. He knew France was worried about this plan he and England had to attack the Somme in a month, but he could see something else was bothering him as well.

"What is it?" The Brit sat down on France's uncomfortable make shift bed. He knew this was bad for him, but miles from what the fancy Frenchman was used to.

France gave another involuntary twitch, flexing his fingers uncertaintly. "It's just an attack... I think they're fighting near Verdun... It'll be fine... We've had battles before..." France was suddenly broken off by a spasm of pain.

England let the other man cling to him, rubbing small circles into his back. "Do you want to go and fight?" He asked, knowing France would kill him later if he didn't ask him this now.

France tried to stand only to fall back down again onto the muddy lumpy mattress.

"Baiser ce salaud!" _Fuck that bastard! _

Angry slashes were appearing up and down France's body, blood dripping all over the horrid uniform he hated so much.

England almost felt like crying himself; he wanted to clean his allies' wounds but there was no clean water for miles, and they'd run out of bandages at least a month ago.

France let out another cry; worse than any other he had emitted since the start of the war. His trembling body was limp in England's arms.

He had to do something! France was going to be completely destroyed if he didn't act now.

Then he remembered, the plan for the attack on the Somme.

"We'll bring it forward..." He murmured, lying France down gently on his bed. "I'll make it stop don't worry!"

He shot from the dugout, sprinting down the trench line to the nearest command post. Shouting to every man in complete English so only they would understand, "we're moving the Somme forward! Get the message down the line!"

The order passed from man to man until it reached the officers.

~/~

The Brit managed to pull himself back to his own Trench. Had they won? To be perfectly honest he didn't care; so many bodies both German and British. Their ghostly pale faces watching him with betrayal; and those were only the ones still with faces to stare with.

Some of the other men helped him down onto the duckboards. He didn't mind that they didn't bandage his wounds; he would heal, they needed all the resources they could for the French and British soldiers from the last two battles.

A long fingered hand balanced his face softly.

"Thank you..." The owner whispered, trying to wipe the blood away with the back of his hand; but they were trembling just as much as England's were.

"Are you okay now?" The Brit tried to pull the Frenchman into focus, but everything seemed to be slipping in his vision.

"Oui." France let the Englishman fall limply against him in a state of unconsciousness. His own wounds were too bad to carry the Brit back to the dugout, so they'd just have to pull into the nearest. With a strange tightness in his chest France realised the owner was probably dead by now, or if he was lucky on his way home with a missing leg.

It was smaller than their own officer dugout; with nothing but a few filthy sleeping bags bundled in a heap where the men had huddled together to stay warm.

Somehow the Frenchman managed to drag England onto the sleeping bags, before letting himself fall beside him- weak with exhaustion.


	56. Chapter 48

**1917 – Russia pulls out of the war due to revolution, and America joins**

Russia was in chaos. People were running lose everywhere; various sharpened objects in their arms. They had killed the Czar and his family, and would kill anyone else who stood in their way.

The Baltics almost felt sorry for Russia as they saw his fallen form in the hallways of his palace, while his people destroyed the place around him; but they were too occupied by what it meant. Freedom.

Ukraine had already broken away, and while Belarus hadn't shown any thought on moving away from her brother, she would probably be pushed away eventually.

"We can get out!" Latvia let out an excited whisper, diving over Russia and running for the door,

"Come on!" Estonia gave the dazed Lithuanian a prod, "you can see your friend again,"

"Poland..." Lithuania's voice was barely audible; it didn't look like he could believe quite what was going on.

Russia had to pull out of the war, so no one was paying any attention to them any more, they could enjoy their freedom and watch Russia burn to the ground, only too sorry they couldn't have done it themselves.

"Brother..." Belarus watched them go, before hurrying to Russia's side, she tried to support his large form by herself but only succeeded in falling down with him.

"Why don't you just go to?" Russia gave a pained cough, tears swimming in his eyes, "everybody else has!"

Carefully she placed her hand on his fevered brow, hoping the sharp coolness of her own palm would help to cool him down. "I'm not going anywhere" she muttered, trying to help him up again, "we need to get you out of here, can you walk?"

The Russian gave a half nod, managing to pull himself to his feet with the aid of Belarus; giving a short grunt of agony. He was grateful she was there to support him though.

"Where are we going?" He managed to murmur, stumbling a little in the snow,

"to the old house," Belarus was moving in the direction of Ukraine's border, "hopefully she won't notice we're there..."

Russia knew this was wishful thinking. His older sister would know they were there the moment they stepped over that border. Their only hope was she would let the two of them stay on the edge without needing to pry.

Though it seemed she was being kind, because they passed over the border without any difficulty, and found their way to the house like it was lit up by hundreds of lights.

"I miss this place..." Belarus whispered softly, the emotion in her voice unlike any Russia had heard her speak before. "Do you remember when Ukraine used to take care of us here?"

Russia nodded, a small smile drifting onto his own face. "You learnt the word 'want!' and wouldn't use anything else."

Belarus gave a huff, "I thought it was perfectly understandable!"

The tall white haired nation laughed at the younger girl. If she just acted like this normally then she might actually be cute.

Russia was forced to take his own weight while she opened the door, but she returned to his side to steady him towards the bed that still lay in the centre of the room.

"I'll go get some firewood..." She muttered, when she saw he was comfortable, "I'll be back in a few minuets."

Russia watched her go.

At one point he would have cried 'why her of all people!' but now, he wasn't sure whether he'd prefer anyone else in this moment. Someone who didn't argue, but didn't just bow down to his complete control either... An equal almost.

He counted the minuets to her return; trying to convince himself it was only because it was cold and he knew she'd be returning with wood to make a fire.

Almost sitting up again when the door did finally open he let out another groan, letting his head flop back down on the pillows.

He listened to her light the fire then make her way towards him.

"I'm melting some snow over the fire so I can wash you injuries" she explained, shifting his heavy white coat off his shoulders, before prying the scarf away.

"B-Belarus!" He clung to the coat and scarf again, he felt almost naked without them, they had been a part of him for so long.

"You can have them back later" she told him firmly, searching for the bloody patches on his shirt.

"Why didn't you leave with the others?" Russia had to ask, he was struggling to find reason for the girl to be helping him after everyone else had made their break for freedom.

"Глупый!" _Stupid! _Belarus gave a small shake of her head. She was the only one who had learnt his language completely. He hadn't even had to force her people to speak it like he had with Ukraine.

Satisfied that she knew where all his injuries were she hopped off the bed back towards the fire. It was funny she thought, how once all three of them had been able to fit onto that bed, now just her and Russia struggled to sit comfortably on it together.

...Though that might be because Russia was never comfortable with her around...

Ever since they were children he seemed to want to spend as little time with her as possible, at first she had just been boring, but now he actually seemed frightened of her.

"Would you like to do it?" She murmured, placing the bucket of melted snow beside the bed and standing respectfully back.

Russia gave her a startled look, but leaned forward for the rag and water, dabbing at his wounds carefully. His gaze drifting every now and then towards Belarus, who had her back to him, and was staring into the flames of the fire.

"Are you okay...?" He got slowly to his feet, testing whether his legs could take his weight.

Suddenly the girl gave a violent sob and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist, "what's going to happen to you!"

Russia hesitantly folded his own arms over her, "I don't know, but I'm sure it will be fine in the end."

~/~

"How do you guys know where Poland lives?" Lithuania gave Estonia and Latvia a sideways glance. Estonia was helping to support him, and Latvia had insisted on accompanying them.

"We kept an eye on him for you..." Latvia admitted, giving Estonia a sideways look,

"We also had to stop him coming to get you..." Estonia back tracked when he saw Lithuania's face, "...No, I mean Russia would have destroyed him, you didn't want that did you?"

Honestly Lithuania shook his head.

"Can you make it from here? I'm sure Poland will be along as soon as he feels you cross his border," Estonia gave him a smile,

"Do come and visit" Latvia let out an excited squeak, giving the lower Baltic nation a hug, "Lai jums veicas" _Good luck _With his last message Latvia bounded away from them towards his own home.

Lithuania realised he wasn't the only one who hadn't been home all these years. While the others had had more freedom than him, Russia would hardly have allowed them to settle down properly back at their old homes.

"Soovin teile parimat," _Wish you the best _Estonia helped Lithuania to steady, making sure he was okay walking, before turning to walk in the direction Latvia had just gone.

Swallowing hard Lithuania touched one toe over the border, feeling the wonderful familiar scent of home wash over him. He wondered to himself how the fields were getting on; Poland had always been really lazy and done very little of the work, had he managed by himself?

He began steadily limping in the direction of the house the two of them had shared. Would Poland still welcome him? He thought, with a sinking feeling in his chest; it had been so long, could he just turn up like this?

"Liet!" The blond boy shot out of nowhere, tackling Lithuania to the floor, hugging him to his chest, tears mixing into Lithuania's hair. "What did that bastard to you!" Lithuania could feel Poland glaring over his shoulder in the direction of Russia. "I wanted to come and get you..."

"I know..." Lithuania forced a small smile for Poland's sake.

For a moment he thought Poland was going to ask him about what Russia had done to him, but the other nation just helped him up, looping Lithuania's arm over his shoulder. "Let's go home."

~/~

Finland blinked happily when he saw his border line returning to him.

Unlike the other nations in Russia's empire, he hadn't been forced to stay with them in the Russia's house, but he had been forbidden from going anywhere near Sweden's border.

But now Russia was falling apart practically.

His nation crumbling around him. Allowing Finland for the first time to sprint westward towards his shared border with Sweden.

His feet just couldn't move fast enough.

Even though they were right next door it took a while to get from Finland to Sweden, without even having to consider getting to the other's house.

He knew Sweden would join him part way though, he would feel him cross the border and be up here in a flash.

Finland smiled to himself as he crossed the border, letting that familiar warm feeling spread through his body; from his toes to the top of his head.

Laughing, he could almost feel Sweden's shock as he crossed. He wanted to see the man he had spent so much of his life with. Before they'd been separated he hadn't known what it was like without Sweden.

He stopped when he caught sight of Sweden making his way towards him.

Happy tears swelled in the Fin's eyes, as Sweden pulled him into his safe embrace, kissing his face all over.

* * *

"Dam!" England gave a curse of anger. Although he was happy to be back in a comfortable house behind the line, the news he and France had received was far from good.

Russia had pulled out of the war, signing an agreement with Germany! Things had taken a turn for the worse.

The worst part about always having to stay at France's house was that he never seemed to have any clothes of his own, apart from the ones he was wearing.

France had lent him another one of those stupidly thin shirts that was too big for him; he just had to make do with his own trousers as well. Déjà vu much.

But what were they going to do now?

There was always Japan who was already fighting on their side, but he could only send a certain number of men over, and the nation seemed to get incredibly confused by their western culture.

"L'Angleterre?" He heard France knock at the door, strolling in before England gave him an answer.

"What do you want!" The Brit snapped, shifting uneasily away from him.

He knew the strains of war were showing on him now however much he tried to hold his anger, but that was the scariest part of France, he always seemed to hold himself together until things got really bad. Then he'd just explode.

And speaking honestly, this was pretty bad...

"I have an idea..." England pricked up his ears, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all,

"What?" He relaxed, shifting a little closer to his ally again- but not too close.

"America..." France spoke like he knew England wouldn't like the suggestion,

"No!" England replied almost immediately in the negative, "that irritating brat!"

"He's our only hope... I know you hate relying on others, but we have to, or we could all end up speaking German, and that's almost as bad as English!" He tried to smile in an attempt to humour the Englishman into the idea.

"No!" England repeated, turning his back on France, forgetting his earlier cautious thoughts.

"England he spited you hundreds of years ago, your people don't hold a grudge, why do you?" He heard France's exasperated growl beginning to sneak into his tone.

"He's arrogant, selfish, stupid, annoying..." England opened his mouth like he meant to go on but France interrupted him,

"a little like you right?" He held England's furious gaze, beginning to feel his own anger beginning to bubble, "oh except I heard he is getting some, so he must have taken after me there..."

France dodged England's flying punch, seizing the younger man's arm and using it to force the British nation down on the bed beneath him.

"France!" England sounded panicked now, trying to push the Frenchman off him, resisting the kisses down his neck.

"You're such a frigid git!" England could see France had now fully flipped, "it's not just me is it!" He snapped, "I can smell it on you, you've never slept with anyone human or nation!"

"Stop it!" Fear was welling up in the Brit's voice, he tried again to push France off him; clawing his nails down the Frenchman's arms, feeling blood welling up beneath them.

"What is it, eh!" England could feel France's palms pressing down hard on his chest; making him feel ill as his airways were trapped. "No one good enough for the Great British Empire!" France bit down hard on his neck in retaliation to the clawing. Smirking at England's cry of pain.

"Please!" The smaller nation was begging, struggling for all he was worth, "we can ask America, we can ask him! Please let me up!"

"Look how the tiny nation agrees now, not so big without your empire are you?" France mocked, pulling his own shirt over his head. "Think of it as I'm doing you a favour; bringing you down to 'our level'"

He didn't understand why England looked so frightened.

A memory stirred in the back of his mind. _A pair of terrified green eyes stared in shock up at him, tears welling at the edges as he slammed the blond head against the ally stone wall._

Shaking his head, France let himself adjust to sanity again. Looking down in horror at England beneath him. He jumped off immediately, unsure what to say; what could he say to apologise for what he'd almost done.

He opened his mouth, but England beat him to it.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The island nation was sobbing, his thin form shivering with tears, "I'm really sorry!"

"What for?" France moved his hand towards England, feeling a stab of pain when England flinched away. But all the Brit would do was repeat the same apology over and over.

"No, I'm sorry," France forced England to look at him, sitting the smaller nation up on the bed, so he knew France didn't mean him any harm any more. "I should never have said any of those things or tried to do that!"

"But I started it..." England murmured miserably, "I shouldn't have drunk that wine, I should have stayed alert!"

Now France had no idea what England was crying about, but he hugged him tightly all the same.


	57. Chapter 49

**1918 – World War One ends, Austria and Hungary split, Economic crisis in Switzerland and Liechtenstein, Civil war in Russia.**

Hungary knew he knew.

She'd been spending more and more time down the eastern German end of the trench, she seemed more concerned about Prussia than him. All Austria wanted to know was how long the affair had been going on for.

She mumbled a reply, looking away from him.

What had sparked the argument was when Hungary had brought up the idea that she could go and fight with her men.

"...Prussia said I should be able to" she finished, that had been when Austria had snapped,

"What is the deal with you and Prussia!" He watched Hungary's face go red with embarrassment, feeling the stare of all their men on them.

"We're friends... You know that" she tried, unable to meet his gaze,

"Friends! You spend more time down that end of the trench than you do here!" Hungary had never seen Austria angry like this before; she could feel the pain behind his voice though. There was a short pause, Austria sighed, "just tell me how long this has been going on?"

With a sob Hungary told him everything, from the first night before they were married, to all of it after they'd signed an alliance. "I tried" she promised him, "but I couldn't stop..."

Rubbing his temple, Austria wrapped an arm around her, "I should have realised ages ago... You've always been in love with him... You just wanted to be with me because I'm what all girls believe men should be like, and I believe that girls should be girls... But you'll never be happy with that..."

Hungary stared tearfully up at him, "what are you saying?" Though she knew what he was about to say next.

"We'll have to let our countries split... Of course I will always be a friend to you, and my door is open whenever you need shelter, but neither of us can continue this..."

He soothed her crying, but did nothing more than hug her.

The war was coming to an end. The American troops were coming in their hundreds of thousands, Germany needed to understand that the war was over for them.

He'd watched it happen with Holy Roma too. Nations would do anything for their freedom, and he didn't want Germany to go the same way the Holy Roman Empire had.

He and Hungary would have to pull out of the war now, they didn't want to be the ones still there when the other side broke through. He knew the results for the German nation would be catastrophic. He was being abandoned by all his allies, first Italy, now them.

Wouldn't it be better just to give in now?

* * *

"Oh Gott!" Switzerland found himself groping blindly through the air. That stupid war that he hadn't even been involved in had bankrupted him! The other nations hadn't been able to afford his exports so the money hadn't come in.

But what had sent him into such a panic was the thought: If I'm in trouble what about Liechtenstein!

He had to find her, she was too small to recover from this alone!

He would offer her anything for recovery, but whatever he decided one thing was set; she would never leave his sight again. He would forever keep her where he could see her.

"Liechtenstein!" He sprang into an empty street, ignoring the rain that lashed down on his back, his only interest was in the girl who lay with her back against the wall in a puddle, soft drops of blood dripping down her pale cheeks.

He dropped to her side holding his breath as he felt for a pulse, letting out his relief when he felt a weak one still pumping in her neck.

Carefully he picked her up, being sure to steady her head like a baby's. She was unconscious, he needed to get her back before something happened to her.

He hoped his boss would hurry up and make the decision to merge, it was the only chance Liechtenstein had for survival.

The moment he got back to his home he would see to it that the maids had her washed and put to bed, in the room next to his.

Even if his boss denied the merge, he would continue to take care of her anyway. He wouldn't let her die.

"B-Brother?" Her delicate eyes began to flutter open, her moss green gaze falling on his face in recognition, "what's happening?"

"I'm taking you back to my house" he explained, "our bosses are discussing a merge of our countries..." Switzerland hoped Liechtenstein didn't notice his own painful wince. He was in just as much pain as her, but he could stand it better.

"I'm tired..." Liechtenstein admitted, letting her body go limp again,

"then sleep" Switzerland whispered, kissing her forehead.

* * *

"Russia's at war..." Poland glanced at the newspaper headline curiously. It seemed the communists and royalists were fighting over control of the country.

He glanced over at Lithuania who was curled up on the sofa sipping the hot chocolate that Poland had made for him a few minuets ago. He gave a small shiver when Russia's name was mentioned.

"Liet..." Poland made forward to kiss the other nation, but Lithuania flinched away, looking absolutely terrified.

"S-Sorry..." he mumbled, leaving off the part Poland knew that Lithuania had almost added 'I thought you were Russia'.

Ever since Lithuania had returned from Russia he had been a nervous wreck, terrified of any physical contact.

"I hate that bastard!" Poland growled, shifting away from Lithuania to make sure he was comfortable. Lithuania didn't reply, "I mean look what he's done to you!"

Lithuania would never reply, and Poland never asked details; it was part of the silent agreement that had been made between them. Not that Poland felt he was getting much out of it.

"I hope this civil war destroys him" Poland muttered, keeping his voice low enough so that Lithuania wouldn't hear his comment.

**1919 – The Treaty of Versailles signed**

"Isn't that a bit harsh!" America sat opposite England and France in the meeting; the two Italian brothers sat nearby, looking nervous.

The only demand they'd put forward was a request for land they didn't really want.

America had sat back and announced Germany should be completely forgiven, no questions asked. While France was arguing for reparations, and revenge- a lot of the war had been fought on his land and he needed money to repair the damage.

England sat between them fiddling his thumbs nervously on his lap. His opinion stood somewhere in between France and America's. He understood Germany had to be punished, but then again he didn't want to be too harsh on the two German nations.

"You don't even have any right to be here!" France spat, almost lunging at America, "you can return to your safe country where you can bask in all you wealth, while we're here struggling for survival!"

"Hey I lost a hundred-thousand men in that war!" America jumped forward, so the two nations were now glaring at each other face to face.

"England lost a million! And I lost two million! Even Italy lost more than you!" France ignored the indignant sound from Romano.

"And Germany lost two million men as well" England pointed out, trying to calm the conversation down again.

"But they attacked us! They could have pulled back, we couldn't stop!" France really looked like he was building up to punch America.

In the end the decision was made that Germany would pay back £6.6 million in reparations, 10% of his land would be given to other countries or made independent, the Rhineland became demilitarized, and his army was limited to 100,000 men.

Neither Germany or Prussia would have any say in the agreements, they just had to arrive with their bosses and sign unconditionally.

The Allied nations watched them arrive.

All eyes were resting on the Germans as they moved forwards, pen ready in hand. The leaders had their heads hung low. The Kaiser had made a run for it, pretty much leaving his country in anarchy. But Germany and Prussia had their heads held high, refusing to give in to the torments from the crowd.

Eight and a half million people were dead- that was thirteen percent of those who had been sent to fight.

Never before had such a war torn through the world before. The ground had leaked with blood for four long years.

Everyone wanted someone to blame, and it seemed like Germany was the most obvious answer. 

**1920 – Poland invades Vilnius (Lithuania's capital)**

What was Poland playing at!

Lithuania had moved back to his own country about a year ago, and here Poland was, invading his borders!

Had their long friendship meant nothing to him!

Of course he'd applied to the league of nations for help, but they'd just muttered something about Poland being a possible ally if Germany attacked again, and them not wanting to upset him.

What about him! Did he not matter in all this!

Would anyone care if Russia invaded him or the others again. Which he could now feel as a possibility.

Russia was drifting steadily closer to Ukraine again, he knew he and the other Baltic states didn't have long. But he'd always believed Poland was the one he could rely on... The one who would always care about him.

"Šunsnukis!" _Bastard! _Lithuania screamed at the oncoming Polish army, hoping Poland could hear him amongst the ranks, "Ублюдок!" _Bastard! _He repeated the insult in Russian, knowing if his own language didn't hit Poland then Russia's would.

Indeed the Polish army did pause, but not for long.

Lithuania could almost feel Poland breathing down his neck, "nie jesteśmy już wspólnota!" _We are not a commonwealth any more!_

Was this Poland trying to prove there was nothing between him and Lithuania, or was this just the aftermath of the war?

But he didn't care what Poland's reasons were. He hated was Poland playing at!

Lithuania had moved back to his own country about a year ago, and here Poland was, invading his borders!

Had their long friendship meant nothing to him!

Of course he'd applied to the league of nations for help, but they'd just muttered something about Poland being a possible ally if Germany attacked again, and them not wanting to upset him.

What about him! Did he not matter in all this!

Would anyone care if Russia invaded him or the others again! Which he could now feel as a possibility.

Russia was drifting steadily closer to Ukraine again, he knew he and the other Baltic states didn't have long. But he'd always believed Poland was the one he could rely on... The one who would always care about him.

"Šunsnukis!" Bastard! Lithuania screamed at the oncoming Polish army, hoping Poland could hear him amongst the ranks, "Ублюдок!" Bastard! He repeated the insult in Russian, knowing if his own language didn't hit Poland then Russia's would.

Indeed the Polish army did pause, but not for long.

Lithuania could almost feel Poland breathing down his neck, "nie jesteśmy już wspólnota!" We are not a commonwealth any more!

Was this Poland trying to prove there was nothing between him and Lithuania, or was this just the aftermath of the war?

But he didn't care what Poland's reasons were. He hated him.

**1922 – Soviet Union**

They were back with Russia, after those brief years of freedom, he had collected them up again, under a new title of the Soviet union.

Apart from Russia, Belarus looked like the only happy one to see them all back together.

It looked like Russia was trying harder to keep his temper, but that didn't stop the occasional terrifying night when something had really angered him.

Lithuania had returned as an old favourite of Russia's, this time Poland hadn't done anything to stop him from being taken. But somehow Lithuania couldn't shake off his attachment to the blond nation. He never had been able to, even when he had sworn to himself he hated Poland after his capital had been taken.

The house seemed cheaper now they were part of a Soviet union rather than part of Russia's empire, that had been full of rich luxuries. Now it seemed like plain was the best.

Russia at least tried to present it like it was, though the other nations could see pain in his tired eyes as he babbled enthusiastically about communism and his leader Stalin.

It was Stalin's name that particularly seemed to frighten Russia. His eyes would always cloud over like he was trying to distance himself from the name.

"We'll do fine..." Russia continued to tell them, "it's great being a communist country, because we can all be friends..."

He didn't notice, or at least pretended not to see the look the Baltic nations exchanged. They still couldn't forgive Russia's treatment of them from before.

Ukraine seemed a little more forgiving. Though she was still hesitant about how she approached her brother. 

**1923 – Kapp Putch- failed rebellion led by Hitler**

Prussia knocked uncertainly on his brother's bedroom door.

It seemed that Germany had calmed slightly since being defeated, but it involved him completely withdrawing inside himself.

The only times he ever seemed to fleck into life was when the northern Italian nation came to visit. Germany had given him a job here after the war. It turned out the Italians were in an even worse condition than they were.

"Germany!" Italy bounded past Prussia's shoulder wrapping his arms around the rigid looking German.

"Hello Italy..." Germany smiled carefully, glancing at his brother and knowing immediately that it was bad news.

"There was an attack... Well more a rebellion..." Prussia shook his head, "but we've rounded up the ringleaders, and hopefully they'll get a treason sentence..."

"Who was involved?" Germany paused from patting Italy's hair,

"That Hitler bloke, with Rohen, and a few others..." Prussia trailed off, watching his brother's face carefully.

"Hitler isn't going down for treason is he!" Germany stopped paying attention to Italy completely, now staring wide eyed at his brother.

"Of course he is" Prussia growled, "he led it!" Why did Germany look so depressed at the idea; Prussia personally wasn't to keen on Hitler, he seemed to dislike more people than England.

"Who's Hitler?" Italy rose his head, tilting it to get a proper look at Germany.

"He's someone with an answer"

"He's a trouble maker!"

The two brothers replied at the same time, exchanging furious looks with the other.

"Can I have a word?" Prussia gave a narrowed his eyes at his brother,

"What?" Germany lent back in his seat again, his attention back on the Italian.

"_Alone_" The older brother stressed, moving to leave the room, motioning for Germany to follow him.

Giving an apologetic look to Italy, the German followed him.

"What is this about bruder?" Germany knew something had been bothering his brother ever since Italy had started visiting him. He knew Prussia was head over heels for Hungary so it couldn't be jealousy. So what could it be?

"You've got to be careful" Prussia warned, "Do you know what would happen if our people, wait, the other _nations _thought you were in a relationship with _Italy_!"

Looking a little affronted, Germany turned his back to his brother, "It wasn't anything serious, he's cute that's all, I thought I could just have him for a few years then leave him."

Shaking his head in dismay, Prussia patted his brother's shoulder; partially at relief that was all it was. "If you did that to Italy you would have his older brother, Spain, France, Hungary, Austria, and who knows who else at your throat." _Still better to stop it just in case._

"Fine" Germany shook him away, "I won't bother,"

"Danke" his brother sighed.


	58. Chapter 50

**1925 – Mussolini becomes dictator of Italy**

Romano exchanged a worried look with his brother. Neither of them were too sure about this, but it seemed to be what the people wanted.

"Have you seen Spain recently?" Italy turned away from the crowd, forcing his brother with him.

All of a sudden Romano seemed intently interested in what Mussolini had to say above the heads of the crowd.

"Why won't you speak to him? You haven't seen him since the battle of Waterloo..." Italy pulled his brother back again,

"He was on the enemy side!" Romano spat, abandoning the idea of pretending not to be interested,

"for our freedom!" Italy reminded him. There was something in this that Romano wasn't telling him.

Romano huffed, "Who'd want to speak to that stupid bastard!" He clenched his fists, looking over Italy's shoulders, "he's a perverted git!"

"Just because he knew your name?" Italy shook his head, "even you aren't that bad..."

"I told you before, he's hiding something!"

"So are you!"

The conversation came to a sudden halt. Romano stared at his brother in shock, eyes widening only more when his twin refused to break eye contact.

"Don't think I haven't seen those scars... that means it can't have been our father..." Italy suddenly drew in a breath, "...Romano, did he make you do those to yourself?"

Italy watched his brother tremble, "...He'd lock me away if I didn't..." Romano shook his head ferociously, fixing his brother with a hateful look. "Why don't you just fuck off back to that Potato bastard you're so fond of! Maybe he'll screw you then die like Holy Roma!"

A sound like a whip cut through Mussolini's speech.

Romano clutched at his cheek, blinking at his brother; who was still glaring at him with his hand raised.

"Don't you ever insult The Holy Roman Empire!" Italy's voice was uncharacteristically soft. He turned away from Romano, walking back through the crowd, either in the direction of home or Germany's house.

His brother had hit him? His own brother had hit him!

Ignoring the people around him Romano burst into tears. Why the fuck was everything his fault all of a sudden! Why did no one want to spend time with him!

Spain...

How could he go back to Spain now. His neighbouring nation probably didn't want to see him any more.

But this is Spain... Romano reminded himself.

Steadily dragging himself north towards France, he began his journey to Spain.

Luckily France didn't bother to take note of his crossing the border, nobody was too fussed if an Italian passed by, be them nation or human.

He hesitated before knocking on the door. Maybe he should just turn back. Perhaps Spain was out. Or everything would be fine and he was just worrying about nothing.

He knocked quickly, pulling away a little the moment he'd done so.

His cheek was still red from where Italy had hit him, and no doubt it felt like a bruise would be coming soon.

"France I'm a little busy so..." Spain broke off, opening the door; eyes fixed on Romano, his mouth open slightly in surprise.

For a moment there was an uncomfortable silence. Romano shifted uneasily on the spot, waiting for Spain's explosion or explanation.

Spain smiled happily, "come on in, I just made paella, you can have some if you want," he led Romano inside like it was only a week since they'd last spoken. That was Spain's way of dealing with awkwardness, just keep everything normal.

"So how are things?" Spain glanced at the red mark on Romano's face but didn't mention it.

"Mussolini has taken over" Romano mumbled, trying to act normal like Spain was,

"Not sure I like him..." Spain shrugged, pulling the dish from his oven and placing it between them on the table, "do you want some?"

"Thanks..." Romano sat down, still feeling awkward.

For a while the two ate in silence, trying to think of something to say to the other that wouldn't upset them.

"My war with America has completely bankrupted me, and the world war has made it even worse" Spain laughed, causing Romano to notice for the first time how thin Spain had gotten since he'd last seen him.

"Can we help at all...?" Romano stared worriedly at Spain, he knew their economy wasn't in great shape either, but things were beginning to pick up.

Spain looked embarrassed, shaking his head, "I'll manage Romano, it's fine."

He wanted to insist, but knew that however Spain was behaving there was still tension between the two of them.

"Romano... Do you think it's possible for a nation to act completely without any influence from its country?"

"No," was Romano's immediate and almost instinctive reply. When countries didn't get along nations didn't either, when a country died so did its nation, as so forth; that's just how they worked.

"What about Hungary and Prussia?" Spain questioned him curiously, "their nations aren't particularly close any more?"

"They haven't seen each other since Hungary and Austria split up" Romano shrugged,

"And England and France?" Spain continued, "have you noticed sometimes England doesn't behave like his country?"

"How?" Romano found himself becoming interested in this conversation, it was something he'd never thought about questioning before.

Spain shrugged, "I can't really explain it very well." He took another plate of paella as if that solved it. "I just can't forget what you told me all those years ago when that seer came to see you..." Realising immediately that he'd come across a sensitive subject he backtracked, "I mean... Do you think it's possible for nations to die?"

"I didn't tell you that one?" Romano told him,

"Oh right!" Spain looked relieved that the topic had moved away from him and Romano, "I think France told me that one..."

"But we know nations die?"

"Yes, but France got told there was a way to kill a nation without it effecting the country..." Spain shivered, "just think what that would mean..."

Romano was equally disturbed by the thought, "imagine there was someone out there who knew the perfect way to kill one of us..."

That was where Spain looked worried, "that's the thing, there is... Apparently only one nation was almost killed this way, but they didn't die..."

"So there is a nation who knows!" Romano almost jumped up from where he was sitting.

Spain calmed him back down again, "remember they haven't done anything yet."

**1926 – Japan turns to fascism, Liechtenstein's union with Switzerland**

It made Japan feel sick to be back in isolation. After the war he'd just fought on the other side of the world; he'd met so many nations who had never even heard of him. Wouldn't it be nice to be heard of...

The depression had come to his country just like he assumed it would go to every country. Though he had heard America was doing rather well out of it. Though of course they were only rumours, he didn't know exactly.

His curiosity over the years had wondered to his enemies from the last war. He wondered what they were like and how they were coping.

It seemed like fascism was the way forward in his country, were any of the other nations turning that way like him?

Perhaps if there was another war...

He shook his head quickly, he shouldn't think like that. The last war had claimed so many lives, no one wanted another war like it.

* * *

"So it's really official?" Liechtenstein smiled happily up at Switzerland, "you have a really nice house,"

"Thank you" the Swiss mumbled, glancing at her awkwardly.

They were in a merged country now, didn't that give him some right to her? He had to fight to stop himself lunging across the table and doing her right there. She had to be at least sixteen now, so their age gap wasn't that large...

"Brother?" The girl blinked worriedly at him, putting down her own knife and fork to stare at where he'd just stabbed himself through the hand with his fork.

"Sorry, my hand slipped" Switzerland lied, pulling it back out again, hoping the mark didn't stay there too long.

But it seemed his restraint had put Liechtenstein off her dinner.

"I think I'll go to bed," she got to her feet gracefully, her soft green eyes almost conveying that she wanted him to follow her.

Possibly a little too quickly the Swiss jumped up, had he just been imagining that look?

Feeling disappointment welling in his chest he realised he must have done. Liechtenstein was too innocent to ask such things as those that were going through his mind.

"Kiss me goodnight?" She asked, hoping Switzerland would pick up on the blush in her cheeks, but it seemed that he didn't; because he only leant down slowly and pecked her on both cheeks.

"Goodnight," he patted her head, watching her go, before quickly sprinting to the bathroom where he hoped she wouldn't hear his moans.

**1929 – St Valentine's day massacre, the start of the American depression**

America felt like bullets were ripping through his chest. Open fire on his people. He could feel every life slip away like flesh from his own body.

"Are you okay?" Canada rested a hand on his shoulder.

The Canadian had been staying to take care off him ever since the depression had started in America; the nation had found himself too weak as his economy was practically destroyed over night.

"Fine" America lied, giving Canada a quick smile.

He remembered when Canada had once been his to touch as he pleased, but it seemed like their relationship had died over the years that America had ignored him. Not that the American had meant to forget his lover existed, but he'd just been so busy.

He felt himself jerk again, openly clutching his chest.

"I need to go and deal with something..." America managed to pull himself together enough to let the image clear in his mind. It was that god dammed Mafia again!

"Are you sure?" Canada ran to his side, just in case he needed support,

"That bloody Italian!" America knew he should never have given permission for the Southern Italian to stay and watch his people settle in. He had done nothing but cause trouble ever since he'd arrived a year or two ago.

"Romano again..." America knew Canada didn't like it any more than he did that the Europeans were coming and going again in their countries. America had started issuing Tariffs to limit the number of people coming in, but it didn't seem to be working that well.

Canada let America leave the small house, slamming the door behind him. He shook his head, moving slowly towards the kitchen to make something for America to eat when he got back.

Said American was barging his way through Chicago sniffing the air like a tracker dog for that irritating smell of wine and southern food.

There were bodies, seven of them America thought he could count. Tossed like garbage into alleyways- out of sight.

He knew he'd come to the right door. His government seemed to let the Mafia get away with whatever they wanted, but America couldn't agree with them; he hated the gang.

Flinging open the door he came face to face with a smirking man- clearly Italian. "You must be here to see either the boss or Romano..." He examined America closely, "...You're like him, you must want Romano..." He stood aside to lead the way.

The place smelt of sex, alcohol, and cigarette smoke- the sources of which were all still visible.

Romano was at the end of the room with his feet up on a crate, watching his people divulge themselves in the luxury of power.

He smirked when he saw America arrive; motioning him forwards.

The American was aware of every eye fall on him. He was disgusted to realise his own people were also in this so called gangs; with his women satisfying their needs.

"This can't go on!" America growled, knowing full well the Mafia's leader wasn't here himself, hopefully that would make Romano more vulnerable.

"What can't?" The southern Italian asked innocently, blinking his amber eyes at the blond nation's blue ones.

The gaze was hypnotic. America had to clench his nails into his palms to force himself to brake eye contact.

"All of this! Innocent people have just been shot in the street!"

"Hardly innocent" Romano scoffed, "another gang."

America swallowed. But he'd still felt it.

"I think you've stayed here long enough," he spoke to the nation directly, "I can't chase your people out, but I withdraw my permission as nation of the United States of America for you to stay here," he forced himself to meet Romano's gaze again; seeing with great satisfaction a surge of anger.

"You think when I leave the problems will stop?" The Italian laughed, "trust me, these people are just beginning..." He got to his feet, strolling pass the American, "I'll be on the next boat out of this shit hole, my brother can't cope on his own back home."


	59. Ages 8

Greece – _27_

Turkey – _28_

France – _2__6_

Spain – _25_

Italy – _20_

Romano – _20_

Austria – _26_

Japan – _21_

England – _23_

Ukraine – _27_

Belarus – _19_

Russia – _25_

Denmark – _24_

Norway – _23_

Prussia – _26_

Germany – _20_

Hungary – _24_

Poland – _19_

Lithuania – _19_

Switzerland – _18_

Taiwan – _20_

Korea – _16 _

America – _19_

Sweden – _21_

Finland – _20_

Canada – _18 _

Belgium – _19_

Netherlands – _22_

Liechtenstein – _16_

*Those in Italics have reached their full age


	60. Chapter 51

_Author note: Someone asked a question about whether UsCan is still going, just to assure them it is definatly still going, I just didn't want them unconditionally together so early in the fic_

**1931 – Manchurian crisis**

More land, those were his orders; and what a better place to start than his old home. China.

It had been many years since he'd last seen the nations he'd spent his childhood with, their faces were only a blur in his memory; and he definitely hadn't seen China since he had first been taken away.

He crossed off the boats onto the Chinese shore line, feeling the funny tingling you got when crossing another country's border. Too bad it wouldn't be there much longer.

Did China know he'd crossed, like he knew when nations touched his own border line?

Ignoring that chance, he nodded to his generals, that pushed the men forward with their loud booming voices. This was war like Japan liked it.

They were united together to fight another country, another nation.

He saw a man standing a little way off, with his mouth open in shock. Was this China?

Lifting his hand, Japan ordered the army to stop. Letting himself go alone to negotiate with the other nation.

China was shaking his head in disbelief, continuing to stare wide eyed at the oncoming dark haired nation.

"J-Japan?" The older nation sounded like he didn't believe his own voice, "is that really you?"

"It is" Japan replied coolly, "I am here to ask whether you surrender or not?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Is that a no?"

The two stared at each other, one in hurt, the other aggressively challenging.

"Why are you doing this?" China repeated, shaking his head sadly. Japan knew he knew his army wasn't any match for the Japanese one.

Feeling a powerful nostalgia running through his veins, he smiled, "Hello China where the sun sets, I am Japan in which the sun rises."

With an almighty cheer from behind him Japan's army charged, while their nation drew his blade, preparing to lunge at his old guardian. But China was faster than he thought, and his sword missed by meters.

"I must defend my country" China sighed, pulling his own sword regretfully, "...You've fallen so far..."

"I am the future!" Japan growled, coming forward to attack again, feeling China's blade block his own.

"You're a child." China didn't say it unkindly but it stabbed at the Japanese nation like the sharpest of knifes.

"Watch this child tear up your country!" He screamed, managing to catch the Chinese nation's arm. He knew his army were pressing further and further inland, soon they would have full control over Manchuria.

**1933 –**** Artificial famine in Ukraine ordered by Stalin, Hitler becomes chancellor, Germans begin to escape to Switzerland**

She knew her brother wasn't to blame for this, she knew he wasn't to blame. That was what she kept repeating to herself over and over again, as the mind numbing hunger washed over her.

What the hell was Stalin doing this for! They wouldn't need training for a real famine in a few days, because there wouldn't be anybody left to experience the real thing!

Russia and Belarus had been trying to make her eat, but it just felt wrong to be so well fed while her people starved. Maybe her own starvation would make Russia stand up to his boss more.

No such luck.

The war had bled the world dry, leading to food shortages already; it wasn't right to starve the people of the little they still had.

Russia always told her he could see her point, but that he was sure Stalin knew what he was doing. Right?

He'd always add 'Right?' at the end of a sentence like this, as if he needed her to reassure him of himself.

* * *

Germany watched his brother proudly. It seemed that finally his older brother had realised the greatness of Hitler and his ideas. It still upset him that Italy didn't seem too keen on his new Chancellor, but it was well known knowledge that Italy didn't know very much anyway.

"Heil Hitler!" He cheered with his people.

Even Italy couldn't argue with the results. Hitler definitely seemed to be making a change; the people felt better about themselves, no longer did they feel like France's doormat- something France never failed to remind him of whenever they saw each other.

It was all France's fault! The stupid treaty. He knew England and America hadn't been too keen on punishing him and his country, but they hadn't fought hard enough...

That just left them criminals of coincidence Germany assured himself. It would be France that would pay first.

"Do you want to go and get a drink?" Germany turned to his brother after Hitler had finished his speech- this was usual tradition after they'd attended a meeting or rally.

"I'll catch up with you later West" Prussia promised, ruffling his brother's neatly combed back hair, "I just want to check something first," he began pushing his way through the crowd in the direction of Herr Hitler.

That was a little odd...?

Usually Prussia would be pestering him to go for a drink while Hitler was talking. But this time he had stood in mesmerized silence hanging off the Chancellor's every word.

"Are you okay?" Italy touched his arm gently. The German jumped as if he'd forgotten his friend was there.

"I'm fine," he began trying to flatten his hair again, pulling out his thin wired comb he kept on him for just such emergencies.

"It's odd for Germany's brother to go off like that..." Italy observed, standing on tip toes to see if he could spot Prussia above the heads of the crowd.

"It is" Germany agreed shortly, looking troubled.

He and Italy began walking in the direction of the nearest pub. Italy wouldn't drink anything but he kept Germany company, especially with the absence of Prussia.

"You know I've heard..." Italy trailed off, shaking his head indecisively,

"what?" Germany didn't like it when Italy suddenly turned thoughtful; it didn't suit him.

Italy hesitated, "I've heard that some of your people are escaping over the border to Switzerland," he watched Germany's face carefully for a reaction.

"Well they're all cowards anyway" Germany shrugged, "die Art der Bastarde Ich hasse!" _The kind of bastards I hate! _

Italy looked worried, giving a sad sideways glance at one of the 'support Hitler posters', below which a young man had clearly been trying to paint over the top, but he now lay broken and damaged from where Hitler's S.A had left him.

"You know... If Germany ever wants to come and visit my country he's welcome to," Italy smiled lightly, he wanted to take Germany away from this mess.

"Thank you," Germany looked surprised by his offer, "I could do with a holiday somewhere hot, but I can't be gone long, Herr Hitler has plans..."

Italy was about to ask what sort of plans, but thought better of it. After all he could take an educated guess where these plans were leading. He only hoped they didn't take it as far as war.

**1934 – Hitler declares himself Fuhrer**

It was a day like this that really made Germany and Prussia proud to be nations.

They watched their people march in the streets, proudly waving the Nazi banner in support for their new leader. The new apartment they had in the centre of Berlin certainly gave them a better view.

The army was swearing its oath to Hitler even now. It was funny to see France and England do nothing about it. They must know; after all they were making enough noise about it; loud songs being sang, with old ditties the men had learned in the Trenches.

"It's the first Reich" Germany beamed, his old excited look returning just for a few seconds.

"Not quite the first" Prussia laughed, "though it does sound more impressive to those who have forgotten..." Prussia closed his mouth very quickly, looking horrified at what he'd just said.

Germany couldn't see whether it was because he was correcting the Fuhrer or if something deeper had just stirred in his memory.

"What was the first Reich then?" He knew he shouldn't, but the Western German couldn't help but feel curious at the mistake such a great leader had made.

After a moment Prussia replied; his voice was stiff and rigid when he spoke, "the Holy Roman Empire was the first Reich of the area..."

Hadn't Italy mentioned something about a Holy Roman Empire once...

"Who was the Holy Roman Empire?" Germany sat himself down in a comfy chair. All he knew about the long dead nation was that... Well he was dead, and used to have an Empire that included Austria and North Italy.

"He was a nation with an empire including this area, Austria, and North Italy; he died in battle," Prussia steadied his voice, shrugging his reply at his younger brother.

"I know all that" Germany sighed, rolling his eyes, that was all that anyone seemed able to say about him.

"He was powerful... But he angered so many, that it destroyed him in the end..."

"He must have had some allies?" The younger German continued to question, rather enjoying this new information.

"He was sort of friends with Austria and Hungary I suppose... There was me, and Italy..." Prussia looked especially nervous at Italy's name, knowing it would produced many more questions than he cared to answer.

"Why Italy?" Germany gave a short scoff, "I mean he's a nice nation I suppose, but who'd want him as an ally?"

Prussia forced himself to give another shrug before turning from the room; before he left he turned staring his brother right in the eye. "Do not ask Italy about the Holy Roman Empire" Prussia warned; his tone more serious than Germany had ever heard it before.

The German didn't even have time to ask why, before the door was slammed shut.

It had surprised Germany that Italy had even been around before him. After all, the nation's physical age was younger than his own, and he himself definitely hadn't been around when the Holy Roman Empire was.

Why was everyone always so hush hush about the Holy Roman Empire. Surely he was just another nation like Rome or Germania, why couldn't he be spoken about without that unusual silence and guilt.

Italy was the only one he'd ever heard speak with sadness and praise of the dead nation. Something in the Italian's eyes seemed to glisten in such conversations. He was sure he'd be able to get more out of Italy.

But his brother had made him promise not to ask...

**1936 – Spanish civil war, Roman-Berlin Axis signed**

Spain let out a loud hiss of anger, as another gang of his people charged at him in the street; had his last message when his country had been at war not sunk in enough. Did he have to kill them too?

He shook the gang off, deciding he should stay with France or Romano while the war was on.

He'd heard that most nations went to stay with friends while their country fought amongst itself, he supposed it was easier that way. To unatatch yourself from it all.

Just as he was turning to go, something sharp hit him on the back of the head, it hurt almost as much as a nation's weapon would have.

"If the people don't want a nation" jeered the one that had thrown the rock, "does that nation just disappear?"

Fear struck the Spaniard. His head was bleeding! Bleeding from a rock thrown by people! Could they really kill him if they didn't want him!

Trembling Spain turned, he had to survive no matter what, he wouldn't let them kill him. He wouldn't!

Spain lunged at the boy who'd spoken; ringing his rough hands round his throat, feeling a thrill run through him as he pulled the life away.

He turned his attention to the other boys. They'd heard what their friend had said, he couldn't let them live either.

They all had to die!

The fear in his mind was only washed away by the satisfaction of cutting down those who gave it to him.

The memory of Rome's death was still so strong to him. Why couldn't he pretend to forget like the other nations who had been there?

He doubted France even cared.

But Rome had been like a father to him... He had taught him how to stand on his own two feet. He had loved the woman who took Spain in. He'd led to Italy and Romano.

He'd died!

Didn't any of the other nations take that seriously!

Nations had died!

France had even been told of an unknown way to easily kill another nation, and it didn't bother him! In fact he curiously wanted to know!

"They think I'm mad" Spain chuckled, uncovering his scythe from its old hiding place, "...then they don't understand anything!"

* * *

"An alliance?" Italy tilted his head curiously at Germany's embarrassed face. Romano looked irritated, while Prussia just looked distant, with his eyes fixed on the portrait of the Fuhrer that hung above the fireplace.

"J-Just in case France was ever to attack us" Germany stammered, remembering how only a few years ago he'd been asking why any one would want the Italian for an ally. But he knew the two Italian nations alone wouldn't do alone, he needed more allies on standby.

"Bastard!" Romano suddenly yelled across the room at the poster of the Fuhrer.

Before Germany had time to question the outburst, Prussia had lunged across the room, pinning Romano down with his hand to the younger nation's throat.

"What did you say!" He demanded, eyes popping in fury.

"He sent those stupid tanks to Spain!" Romano kicked Prussia off him, "he's made the war a whole lot worse!" Romano's anger was almost one to match the Prussian's.

"What was it for!" Romano continued, "testing them out are you, so your ready to attack France again!"

This conversation was not going well.

"Italy..." Germany turned to the younger twin, he needed support, so the other nations didn't think he was weak. Not that admittedly signing an alliance with Italy would make them think any different, but it might make them pause.

"Romano, we should sign it, just in case..." Italy turned to his brother, "I know what Hitler's doing in Spain is wrong, but we have to think for ourselves too..."

"So that's what your doing then is it!" Romano spat, "when you supported Holy Roman Empire did you give a shit what he fought for!"

Germany watched the usually mild Italian freeze all over, then saw him begin to tremble. First he thought he was crying, but then he caught the anger burning from Italy's brown eyes.

If Romano knew he had overstepped a boundary, he wasn't showing it.

"I bet it's the same with him too!" The other Italian continued, "you hate Hitler just as much as I do!" He ignored Prussia's growl of warning, "so are you going to let him do to you what you let 'Holy Roma' do!" Romano's voice was so mocking it stung even at Germany who wasn't involved.

Italy leapt at his brother, dragging him down to the floor. Punching and kicking him repeatedly. Romano's own self-defence ineffective on him.

In the end Germany and Prussia had to pull them apart.

"Go ahead and sign your stupid agreement!" Romano yelled, "because you're the special one! The one everyone wants! You fucking whore!"

Germany almost felt tempted to punch Romano himself. But it seemed like Italy had done a pretty good job.

There were the beginnings of a black eye on Romano's right side, along with one arm that hung limp by his side. No doubt a few ribs would be broken too.

Italy himself had escaped with no more than a few bruises.

"Well it's hardly competition next to you!" Italy hissed, chest heavily rising and falling beneath Germany's arm- where he had it wrapped round the Italian to stop him lunging at his brother again.

Romano stamped hard on Prussia's foot, resulting in his release, he stormed from the room.

"Where do I sign?" Italy's voice was back to normal again, though there was still the air of defiance about it.

"Umm..." Germany shook his head, releasing Italy's waist and leading him towards the table.


	61. Chapter 52

**1937 – Two million killed in Stalinist Purges in Belarus**

Even Belarus was avoiding him now. And he didn't blame her.

But she had been the one who was always constant, always there. He didn't understand, how could Stalin turn on her too.

He knew he was abusing the Baltic states more the usual now. He didn't want to, but he had to let his anger out somewhere, the place where deep down he really wanted to hurt his boss.

She would nod at him in the corridor when the passed, but she wouldn't lunge at him for a hug like she used to, she didn't want to be close like she'd used to beg for.

He watched his 'family' eating across the table at dinner. He wondered which of the Baltics he should take his anger out on this time, he knew they were waiting for it.

Ukraine was eating again, but she still looked thin. Her enormous breasts seemed to have lost their bounce, she looked almost as dead as the Baltics.

When he rose from the table he knew they were waiting for him to name Lithuania, or Estonia, or even Latvia.

"You can go" he dismissed, leaving his usual pause, "Belarus I'd like to speak to you for a moment."

The shock around the room wasn't hard to detect. Ukraine almost threw him to the ground with her tackle. "She may not be your real sister, but you can't!" She shrieked, hitting his chest.

"I said you can go" Russia repeated coolly. Why did they think he was going to hurt her?

But this time there was no one to pull Ukraine from the room, she sat back down again with her arms crossed.

"It's alright сястра" _Sister_ Belarus whispered touching Ukraine's shoulder, "I'll be fine."

With a long look at the girl she had cared for through childhood Ukraine got up again, leaving the room with the Baltics.

"So?" She stared at Russia questioningly, betraying no sign of fear or worry, did she even care if he hurt her? For some reason that idea annoyed him.

Everyone was being so annoying at the moment. England had said they'd sign a treaty but never seemed to get round to it. If they didn't hurry Russia was sure Germany would move against him.

He moved slowly towards her. He wanted them to be close again, he'd do anything for that to happen.

Smiling, he felt a trigger of uncertainty rush through her as he let their lips trace together, not letting them quite meet.

"I'm sorry for what Stalin is doing to your people..." At this distance he could see the thin white scars that lined the side of her face, leading down her neck.

"Is that why you think me and Ukraine are avoiding you?" Belarus gave a small laugh, running one hand down the side of his face,

"...That isn't why?" Russia stared at her in confusion, flinching when her cold hand touched something painful just below his neck. He'd been gathering scars without even realising it?

"We feel awful because you don't notice what Stalin is doing to you..." She murmured, turning his face so they were looking at each other again.

He pulled away, "Stalin can do no wrong" he mumbled, like a recording he'd been told to play in such situations.

"But look what he's doing to you!" He heard the girl desperately trying to persuade him otherwise.

"I do not matter..." Russia spoke distantly, showing Belarus his arm, pulling a knife out with his other hand, "watch..."

He drove the knife deep into his arm, at the same time Belarus tried to pull it off him. They both watched to blood drip down his coat and her dress. Their bodies pressed closely together.

"Я люблю тебя," _I love you _The female nation felt pained as she let the words escape her, voicing what everybody already knew.

"Я знаю," _I know _Russia hugged her tightly.

* * *

England paced in front of the fire, should he really delay any longer? He knew France was against the idea of an alliance with Russia again. But surely it was better to have Russia on their side rather than Germany's...

He stopped, laughing lightly; he was thinking like there actually was going to be another war. Of course the wouldn't be another war. They'd all learnt their lesson since last time, he'd even persuaded France to let a few things slip to appease Germany.

"Your boss said I'd find you here..." France knocked on the open study door carefully,

"What do you want Frog?" England groaned, rubbing his temples, he wasn't really in the mood to deal with the French nation at the moment.

France levelled up to him.

"You can't sign this agreement with Russia" France pressed, "you know we can't trust him."

"But surely that's better than letting him sign an agreement with Germany!" England snapped back, staring at the sheet of paper on his desk that was only lacking the two signatures it required to be complete.

France made his way over to it, making no sudden movements so the Brit could see what he was doing. He picked up the paper, bringing it back to England and placing it in his hands.

"There's a fire there" he murmured, drawing one finger under England's chin so they were staring at each other. He stood back to let England make the decision.

"But..." England made to protest, then realised France (by placing the paper in his hands) had distanced himself from having anything to do with it. The decision was England's alone.

He stared at the paper, then the fire. Feeling its previously unnoticed heat like a wave around the room.

"If there is a war, we can't fight it alone..." England breathed, taking a step away from the flames,

"We get an agreement with China then" France interrupted him, giving a prompting look at the paper.

"What do I tell Russia?"

"Tell him you're still thinking about it."

Closing his eyes tightly, England let the paper flutter downwards towards the flames.

He could almost feel France purring, was he letting the Frenchman take control of him...

The Brit flinched when he felt France's fingers lace over his shoulders, running down his sides to his thighs.

France wanted this war to go his way. He knew whatever their bosses said there would be one, and he wasn't prepared to let Germany even come close. He had barricaded all the possible entrance routes to France on the German and Italian side. He was desperate.

England let his own arms lie limp while France drew circles with his thumbs into the Englishman's sides.

"What's wrong mon cher?" France's breath didn't feel like its normal comforting scent, England could feel panic and fear.

"France..." He moved his body away from the Frenchman's grip, folding his arms around himself. "You need to relax..." He tried to convey himself to his ally, but France just gave a sharp laugh.

"It's okay for you _moutard!_" _Brat! _France hissed, forcing his touch back on England, breathing his foul smell into England's ear, "you don't share a border with that maniac! The only borders you share are with the siblings you bully!"

"I share a border with you..." England's heart began beating quickly, realising he was suddenly afraid of France.

"Ha!" France hit him, "A border you say! Are you admitting to being part of Europe now!" The Frenchman turned his back on him, "Vous n'êtes rien à aucun de nous!" _You are nothing to any of us! _

Feeling his cheek where France had hit him England let out a growl, "I'm trying okay!" He snapped, "you need to stop driving your own allies away before the war's even started!"

"Bâtard!" France punched him once more in the chest as he passed out of the room.

**1939 – THE START OF WW2, Spain becomes a dictatorship, Switzerland surrounded by German, Italian, and Austrian troops, Russia and Germany invade Poland, Vilnius given back to Lithuania**

"Dam!" France cursed loudly, feeling England's glare across the allied meeting table. China was the only other nation there, and he was looking just as annoyed as England realising France had pretty much caused them to hand an ally to Germany on a plate.

"I told you Russia would betray us" France shrugged sulkily, throwing his pencil across the table at the Brit.

China gave a small sigh, "at least you guys have time to prepare for it... I still have Japan at my door, I also hear he's signed an alliance with Germany and Italy..."

"I suppose you're right" England admitted, "he's hardly going to make a move in the next few days."

"At least we know Spain won't get involved" France shrugged, "he's bankrupt after the civil war, that's one less nation to worry about."

"Have you spoken with America?" China looked over at them, he'd just assumed America would join the war with them, but apparently not.

"That stupid kid!" England let out a cry of irritation, "I ask him if he's interested and he told me too..." England paused, "...Go and fuck the whole of Britain and France over and then we'll see if I'm worthy!"

France gave a short snigger, "you're welcome to try petit lapin, but I warn you it's harder than it looks, I tried, but there are always the difficult ones..." He smirked at the Brit, "...but I'm sure I'll get there eventually."

"Just keep trying" England replied in pure English, hoping China wouldn't understand; luckily it looked like he didn't.

"Can you guys stop talking languages I don't understand and talk about how you're going to help me!"

* * *

Blood. So much blood.

Poland looked down at his floor. He was sure he wouldn't be able to soak the wood of the mess that was now seeping into it.

Germany's boot pressed down hard on his back.

Didn't he have an alliance with England and France! Where were they!

He felt the German push down with almost enough force to break his spine.

"Are you done over there?" Germany called over to Prussia who had disappeared with Poland's servants a few moments ago to the cellar, with his gun ready and loaded.

One more gunshot went off, then Prussia reappeared up the stairs, covered in almost as much blood as Poland was, with the one major difference; that Poland was covered in his own.

Russia was in the other corner watching with Poland's torture with nothing less than delight.

"I can give Lithuania back Vilnius" he chirped, "maybe that will make him like me more than you..."

"Come to terms yet?" Prussia asked, licking the red liquid from his fingers absent-mindedly, "or do we need to hurt some more people?"

"England and France will help!" Poland spat back, giving a yell as Germany kicked him sideways.

"You expect those _Feiglinge_ to help you!" _Cowards _Prussia smirked, "they don't give a shit what happens to an eastern nation like you!"

As Prussia finished his sentence, the phone gave a shrill ring.

Poland gave the men in the room a triumphant nod, reaching out a dry scabbed hand to pull it off the hook.

"We'll do that!" Germany stood on his outstretched hand, picking up the phone himself.

"Poland is that you!" It was England's snobby voice, it sounded like he was about to lecture the Pole about something, meaning he probably didn't know.

"This is Germany."

There was a harsh silence, then an awkward laugh from England's end of the line, "seriously Poland don't scare us like that..."

Prussia snatched the phone from Germany, yelling down the receiver, "Listen you English prick we're in, what are you going to do about it!"

He heard England swallow, in the pause it felt like he was exchanging looks with others; were the other allies at the end of the line?

"Oi! Frankreich muss man gefickt dieser Bastard noch!" _France have you fucked this bastard yet! _Prussia's tone was mocking, "Er klingt immer noch wie haben Sie nicht!" _He still sounds like you haven't!_

"Shut-up you shit-head and tell me what you're doing there!" France had gotten hold of the phone, he sounded absolutely furious, "if you do not leave Poland _now _then we _will _announce war on you!"

"Go ahead" Prussia shrugged, not bothering to check with his brother for a nod, "you won't win this time anyway."

"Don't be so sure!" France bit back,

"Heil Hitler!" Prussia slammed the phone down on his old friend.

The allied nations exchanged a look of fearful shock.

"We're at war..." England didn't sound like he could quite believe it. France helped him back to his seat, standing behind him so he could rub small circles into the younger nation's back.

China dropped down onto the table, clearly he'd been hoping that the war would just remain a one on one kind of war. Nobody had wanted this, apart from the axis obviously.

* * *

"What are you doing!" Switzerland trembled within his border, watching the Italian, Austrian, and German troops surround his country. "This land is neutral!"

He was especially hurt to see Austria standing alongside Germany and Italy. Austria had taken care of him, and they'd become good friends, why was he suddenly working with Germany!

"We aren't on your land" Germany shot back, "we're just making sure the allies don't try and escape here."

"They're fighting you, why would they try and hide!" The Swiss was highly tempted to go and get his old gun and fire a few shots at the surrounding nations, but he was pretty sure they'd just open fire back.

"Brother what's going on?" Liechtenstein was hurrying towards him, staring fearfully at the soldiers all around them.

"Ciao!" Italy suddenly started waving at her, jumping up and down and behaving in the most extraordinary way.

"Is he waving at me?" The girl looked nervously round Switzerland to wave back shyly at the overexcited Italian.

"My name's Italy, and you're cute" Italy called over, jumping up and down on the spot. Liechtenstein giggled and blushed.

Now Switzerland really was almost ready to go and get his gun, but he didn't need to because Germany had just knocked Italy round the back of the head himself, looking annoyed at his atmosphere being destroyed.

He nodded to his soldiers, before motioning Austria and Italy away with him.

Italy waved a quick goodbye to Liechtenstein before running after Germany.

"Watch out for him" Switzerland warned, glaring after Italy, "I think he's interested in you..."

He gave a startled jolt when Liechtenstein burst out laughing, "you are funny bruder" she grinned, "he's Italian, they don't need to be in love to flirt... Unlike you and that German."

She gave a happy sort of grin, skipping off to the east.

"Where are you going?" He called after her worriedly,

"I want to discuss something with Hungary" she shouted back, continuing the direction she was going in.


	62. Chapter 53

"I did warn Italy about this" Hungary sighed, shaking her head, "I thought there was something but I couldn't be sure..."

Liechtenstein stared at her in surprise, "don't you think they look sweet together?"

She saw Hungary begin to crack, "of course!" She gave a small squeal of excitement, "but..." she trailed off again, "I don't want Italy to be going after him just because he looks a little like the Holy Roman Empire..."

"I've heard a lot about him..." Liechtenstein nodded, "but no one ever says very much. Hey, didn't you used to live with him, I'm sure you know loads!"

"...More than a lot of nations" Hungary agreed, she carefully judged Liechtenstein's expecting look, "you want me to tell you about him?"

The younger girl nodded.

Hungary hesitated, "...you must never tell anyone any of what I'm about to tell you, as far as I know very few nations know as much as I do..."

"I promise" Liechtenstein insisted, getting impatient as she waited for the story.

"You know about his empire obviously, so we won't discuss that. Most nations hated him, even Austria wasn't too keen on him living in his house... his brother of course was completely loyal to him, he did... very few things without his brother's permission, and nothing that involved the empire without him."

Hungary shook her head slowly, as if trying to get rid of a memory that had just arisen.

"There was only one nation though that loved him because he wanted to..."

"...Italy" Liechtenstein guessed, watching Hungary nod silently.

"Poor Roma never knew Italy was a boy throughout childhood, you see Italy looked a lot like a girl if you put him in a dress..." She smiled at the thought, "...Roma went to fight in a long war... He came back towards the end to pick something up. He and Italy were both older, I never saw Roma, but Italy was about fifteen..."

Liechtenstein knew she was leaning forward eagerly, but she wanted to know what happened next.

"well..." Hungary blushed, "it wasn't like I wanted to hear them, but they were rather loud..." She grinned as the younger girl brought her hand to her mouth,

"What happened next?" Clearly however impossible it was, Liechtenstein was hoping for a happy ending.

Hungary frowned sadly, "Roma died in battle a few years later... They never found the body, though France has always blamed himself for killing him..."

"Did he?"

"We don't know" Hungary shrugged, "Prussia was part of the first searching party, but he didn't find anything..."

**1940 – Paris falls and the Nazis take over, The battle of Britain begins**

"Je ne parlerai même pas de vous!" _I will not even speak to you! _France spat at Germany's leader, he turned his head to Prussia, "Je vous hais trop pour parler de vous!" _I hate you too much to speak to you_ He grumbled, finally landing on Germany, "Vous aurez à faire" _You'll have to do _he sighed.

"Speak normally" Germany ordered, although it was clear he'd understood what France had said.

"non!" Was the sharp reply,

"Je veux juste vous dire que moi et mon pays ne cèdera pas à vous," _I just want to tell you that me and my country will not bow to you _he paused in thought, "jamais!" _Ever! _He added.

Germany turned his back. France could almost sense some sort of regret coming from him.

He could hear Italy outside, why hadn't the Italian been allowed in to interrogate him. He was so fixed on Germany's strange behaviour that he didn't see Prussia raise his arm, with what looked like a silver candlestick from the mantelpiece clenched in his fist.

France let out a cry of shock and pain. His hands scrambling for something to defend himself from the oncoming continual hits. He wasn't even quite sure what it was he was being attacked with, it might have been a number of different objects for all he knew...

Germany slipped silently from the room drawing in long pants of breath.

Japan and Italy had been waiting outside for him, worried looks on their faces.

"What are they doing to him...?" Italy whispered, resting his hand over Germany's racing heart, trying not to cry every time France screamed. Japan too looked like he was having difficulty.

Italy had noticed over the last few years especially that Germany had been experiencing... Problems.

When he snuck into Germany's bed at night he sometimes saw fresh scars opening themselves up on his back. His sleep was obviously disturbing him; he twitched and tossed all night.

"Come on..." Japan touched his allies gently, "lets go to bed..." Italy knew that in a situation like this, what Japan was saying was the only thing that could be said.

It was unusual that the three of them would all curl up together on the large double bed in one of France's numerous spare rooms, but obviously it was one of those nights where none of them wanted to sleep alone.

"Do you think we'll ever be democracies again?" Italy whispered, curling up between Japan and Germany, "because I think I'd like to be one again..."

"Me too" Japan closed his eyes sadly, "what about you Doitsu?"

Italy felt Germany flinch against him. There was a contemplating pause, then the German nodded, "I'd like that..."

Japan's head was pressed against Italy's back, trying to block out France's crying pleads, the same as what Germany and Italy were trying to do against each other.

Italy wondered sadly how many other nations Japan had been close to, he didn't seem to know enough about other cultures to know any that well. But the way he snuggled next to Italy and Germany sometimes seemed to suggest that he was missing something. Maybe once he had a family to snuggle against, like Italy had Rome, and Germany had his brother.

"Guddonaito" Japan murmured,

"Buona notte," Italy arched his back, to let Japan get into a more comfortable position,

"Nacht," Germany let his chin rest on Italy's head.

~/~

"Where are you going!" China stared at England as if he were half mad, he couldn't go anywhere now! They'd have to wait for another day to try and take France back.

"He isn't staying with them!" England snapped back, clenching his fists, "I'm going to get him right now!"

Judging by the mood England was in, China gathered he wouldn't be able to say anything to stop him.

England had made the journey to France's house many times, but never quite as undercover as this... Well maybe once, but that was a long time ago.

He counted every stroke of the silent oar when it went in and out of the dark sea water. He was relying on sense alone to know which direction France was in.

Hopefully the Frenchman would feel him cross the border, and come to meet him... Would he be able to come to meet him?

Feeling a daunting dread returning England rowed faster.

He knew he'd be asked when he got back where they were to put the French nation, but England already had an answer- he could stay with him until they got his country back.

England and his soldiers had helped some of the French army to Britain, and he was sure more would follow.

France's government had an establishment set up in London too. He could still fight the war... just not in his own country.

What if Germany realised he'd crossed the border!

He paused before placing his toe on the sandy shores of France; he'd just have to be quick.

~/~

France was dumped onto the floor in his room at around one in the morning. The only reason he'd been allowed to keep it was because it was the only room in the house with a lock on the doors and windows.

Somehow his once plush room didn't look as comfortable. Maybe he should get a carpeted floor put in he thought bitterly to himself, knocking his hand feebly against the wooden floor, before pulling himself into his chair, where he closed his eyes hoping the pain would be gone by morning.

He hadn't been asleep long however when a sudden wind flushed over him, like someone had just opened the window.

Realising he must be dreaming France didn't even bother to open his battered eyes.

It was the sound of anguish a few seconds later that brought him to.

England was standing by the open window with a small wire in his hand that he'd used to pick the lock.

"I came as quick as I could" he swallowed, "I'm sorry it wasn't fast enough..." The Brit rushed forwards, hugging the Frenchman tightly, crying into France's chest. "Who did this to you? Germany?"

France shook his head, laughing a little, "you'd think" he nodded, "but no, Prussia and, his and Germany's boss did this..."

He trailed off sadly, shifting England so the younger nation was straddling his waist, for once England didn't complain.

"Are you strong enough to travel?" The Englishman whispered.

France nodded, pecking England on both cheeks, then once gently on the mouth. "Thank you for coming to get me..."

"Your welcome" England smiled, getting off the Frenchman's waist and making his way back towards the window.

"Wait, I just need to get something!" France dived under his bed suddenly, rummaging around for something.

"What are you doing!" England hissed, throwing a hurried look at the door, what if Hitler or Prussia came back!

France gave a muffled triumphant sound from under the bed, and pulled.

An almighty crash rang through the house, alerting anyone who was awake, and waking anyone who had been asleep.

"Idiot!" England pulled France to his feet, before propping the chair against the door. He hurried France to the window.

"How do I..." France looked down carefully at the drop, England had better not tell him that his fairies brought him up and down bedroom windows.

"Climb stupid! You're the one that planted all that stuff climbing up your wall!" The Brit gave him another shove.

The two could hear banging on the door, where the Germans were trying to get in.

Hitching his leg over the window France began to climb, clutching his parcel tightly under one arm.

He looked up but England was still hesitating by the inside the room beside the window. "Do you want to get caught!" France hissed.

The doors were thrown open, with Prussia and Germany at the front, Italy, Japan, the Fuhrer, and a few other men behind them.

What was England playing at!

" Adolf, you've bitten off, much more than you can chew.

Come on, hold your hand out, We're all fed up with you,

Gor Blimey, Adolf, you toddle off, and all your Nazis too,

Or you may get something to remind you Of the old red, white and blue."

France could have burst out laughing, England was singing one of those stupid songs they'd heard from the soldiers a few weeks ago, to the Fuhrer himself. It appeared that the German's, Italy and Japan were too shocked to even stop him settling on the window frame and jumping like a cat onto the grass below. The Brit straightened up, grinning cheekily at France.  
"That ouight to show 'em" he smirked.

"Didn't that hurt?" France looked at him carefully, trying to judge the distance from his bedroom window to the ground.  
"God yes!" England let out a pained chuckle, "but we'd better get going before they all recover to their senses and come looking for us."

France didn't know how they quite managed it, but they were back in Britain in the hour. They could relax on the walk back to London where England had told France that his government already was.

"...So you can stay at my place until we get your country back, and..." He trailed off, catching France's suggestive look; gathering it was only a joke, he laughed, giving the Frenchman a playful punch on the shoulder.

"You can have the spare room down the hall" he smiled, pausing outside his own house.

He'd apologise to the officials later for bringing in the French nation without telling them.

"If you want a bath it's just down there, he pointed to the door closest to the upstairs staircase, "my room is the first on your left, and you can have the one at the end."

France nodded thankfully, a warm bath would be welcoming after the beating he'd taken a few hours ago.

He could feel every spot where he'd been struck, and was aware that a small trickle of blood was dripping just above his ear, but it looked like he'd been lucky, perhaps Prussia hadn't completely forgotten their old friendship.

He kept the package he'd brought with him wrapped while he washed, not wanting the steam to damage it. The intention had been to show it to England, but he could do that tommorow, after all the Brit was probably almost asleep by now.

Getting out of the bath, France pulled a towel round his waist, wishing he'd brought some clothes with him; after all England's didn't fit him.

Tip toeing past England's room, he couldn't help but notice the door was slightly open; he was about to call through, then froze.

England had already changed into his sleeping trousers, but hadn't quite gotten to the shirt yet. As he reached out to grab it France caught sight of an black line running horizontally across England's side; just below his chest.

It had the formation of a scar, but didn't look quite as knotted- if it was a scar it would have had to of been done by someone with a knife so thin it was practically a thread.

He dropped his package suddenly, causing England to freeze. Quickly France backed away a little, knocking on the door like he'd just been walking past.

"I suppose you don't have any larger clothes?" He asked, indicating that he didn't have anything to wear- save the towel wrapped round his middle.

"No" England replied shortly, his shirt on now, hand reaching out to touch where the black mark was on his skin.

"Can I come in?"

"No."

Then the Brit changed tactics quickly, motioning France in shyly, "you didn't see anything...did you, b-before you came in?"

France opened his mouth, realising this was one of those awful situations he hated, "...like what mon cher, you weren't changing were you?" He asked, making his voice sound eager.

He saw England relax, "it's fine" he dismissed, changing the subject by pointing at France's parcel, "what is that thing?"

The parcel itself was pretty small; about tile sized, and as thick as a canvas.

France smiled, maybe he wouldn't have to wait until tommorow to show England what he'd brought.

"You probably don't remember..." He sat down on the bed, smiling as England crept along towards him, to get a better look. "But when we were younger, we had..."

"...our picture done" England finished for him, drawing in a small breath as he realised what France had kept all those years.

It looked just as perfect as when it had first been done, and looked so lifelike that England was almost expecting his and France's younger selves to start arguing on the canvas.

"You've grown a lot since then..." France smiled, "you know we all used to think you'd be small forever because you were an island, certainly proved that wrong," he laughed, touching England's blond hair on the picture with one hand, and stroking the real thing with the other.

"I've got something for you too!" England suddenly leapt up, sounding excited. France watched him rush to his cupboard, standing on the tips of his toes to reach the top shelf.

Lying back France admired the small amount of waistline that appeared, but even that was splattered with pale white scars.

"Remember during the fire in 1666?" England mumbled looking nervous, pulling down the whatever it was. "I went back for this..."

France stayed where he was, waiting for England to reveal it to him.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" The next question struck France as odd,

"Yeah, you were being beaten up by Denmark if I remember right..." He trailed off when he saw the Brit shaking his head in amusement.

England placed the long item down at the foot of the bed, crawling slowly along the mattress till he and France were staring levelly into each others eyes.

"What?" France was still confused,

"my eyes used to scare people..." England went on, unblinking, "they used to float through the mist..." Faintly France could remember a story like that, was it from the Saxon's before they settled in England?

England touched France's hand gently, "sorry for throwing that rock at you..."

Then the Frenchman remembered.

His first trip to England, and how he'd hated it, and gotten lost in the bog. And there had been that monster chasing him!

...But it hadn't been a monster, and it hadn't been chasing him...

"You helped me find my boat..." France stared at England in wide eyed surprise as his memories flooded back to him.

"You dropped something though..." England turned away, pulling the package towards him and handing it to France.

Now he knew the story France only knew it could be one thing. He could feel England's eyes on him as he unwrapped the paper.

The sword shone in the weak light of the room, all the jewels still in place where they should be, not even an onze of rust had merged onto it.

"Merci!" France pinned England down on the bed, kissing him full on in the mouth, with only a towel keeping France 'decent'.

But he didn't try his usual attempt of trying to undress the Brit. Of course he still wanted too, but now at least he knew the reason why England wouldn't let him.

"Dammed French!" England growled into the kiss, feeling something hard against his leg,

"pardon" France smirked, unable to stop himself from digging it in just a little.

"Get up!" The Englishman ordered, pushing his hands against France's chest.

France sat up, hoping he hadn't upset the Brit too much. That was not a good way to start sharing a house with someone.

"Just for tonight" he heard England mutter, his face hot red with embaressment, before France felt a bolt go through his spine.

England's head was between _his _legs!

Darting out his tongue to lick the top of the erection; his thin fingered hands running along the bottom like silk.

"L'Angleterre~" France couldn't stop himself moaning softly, thrusting his hips into the Brit's mouth, stopping to kiss him when England gave the smallest and most adorable of coughs. It seemed France had been right and England never had done this before.

Maybe he should just let him get on with it, rather than getting too difficult, too fast.

England was trying his hardest though. Mewing in irritation when he couldn't get it all in.

The Frenchman could feel his chest tightening as he felt England's clumsy work. Admittedly he was usually the one giving the blow jobs, but England made him feel better than any other moaning woman or man would, and he'd always known that.

He wanted to strip England down with all he had, but he managed to hold himself down, satisfying himself with what the Brit had decided to give him after all these hundreds of years of waiting.

"England I'm going to..." he thought he'd better give England a warning, but the Englishman carried on anyway, a determined look on his face.

France heard him choke and splutter on the cum, spilling most of it, though he manage to catch a little in his own mouth. But now he was struggling to swallow it down.

While it wasn't very professional, France couldn't have imagined anything nicer than this.

"Très mignon" _Very cute _France let his finger wipe some of the cum from the side of England's mouth.

"Shut-up..." England gave an embarrassed mumble once he'd swallowed the last of it.

In most cases he would have offered to do the same for his partner, but he knew England wouldn't let him.

"Can I..." England glanced in the direction of the bathroom, clearly expecting France to suggest something perverted.

"Sure..." France kissed him softly, knowing exactly what England wanted, "I'll go back to my room okay... And like you said it was only for tonight..."

The Brit nodded thankfully, leaving his room to deal with his own problem.

"One day..." France breathed, pulling the towel around himself again, and making his way to his own room.


	63. Chapter 54

France sat down at the kitchen table the next morning, waiting for England to come down and complain the Frog had been cooking in his kitchen. He knew the Brit would want everything forgotten that happened last night.

"Morning..." England trampled groggily down the stairs rubbing his eyes, he looked sleepily around the kitchen, then at the croissants on the plate by his seat. "Been cooking in my dammed kitchen have you Frog?" England yawned, settling down to eat.

Sometimes the Brit was so predictable. Especially in the mornings when it took him a further half an hour and a cup of tea to fully satisfy him.

France himself drank coffee, but he had made tea for the other man as well.

However much he tried to forget it, France couldn't help letting his eyes stray to England's left side where the black scar was. It looked like it was in such an uncomfortable place... Didn't it hurt?

"You know..." The Englishman was looking a bit perkier now after a few bites of croissant, and sips of tea, "give America another year and he'll probably come and help us out, it's too close to him this time, what with Japan and America as close as they are..."

France listened carefully to England's strange battle plans, which he knew would wear off by the meeting- when the Brit was fully awake.

**1941 – Russia changes sides, Germany occupies Ukraine, Pearl harbour, Nazis occupy Lithuania, America joins**

The three allies stared warily across the room at the Russian. It did make his story a little more believable when they saw the small trail of blood down one side of his face.

"But why would Germany just turn on you like that, I thought you were allies?" China sounded sceptical,

"It was only to buy time..." Russia admitted, "we knew they'd try and invade eventually, we just wanted to be better prepared..."

"And how is the invasion going?" England leaned forward, "I've heard they already have Ukraine, Belarus, and Lithuania?"

Russia nodded sadly, but then sat a little firmer, "just wait until general winter comes around, he'll see them off."

France nodded slowly, "I tried to invade Russia once too remember" he looked apologetically at the white haired nation, but Russia dismissed it, "...Winter saw me off quickly, even in the state I was in..." Then he looked hopeful, "it was when I started to get disillusioned with Napoleon, maybe the same will happen to Germany and Prussia..."

The others had to admit that was a good point.

They glanced at Russia once more; each giving a small tilt of his head, "you can join the allies" the agreed.

"As long as you don't try and inflict any of that communist bollocks on us!" England reminded him,

"Not all of it is bad" Russia shrugged, "but I won't~."

* * *

"...I'm not sure that's wise Japan..." Italy sounded uncertain as Japan announced his next plan to his other allies in the axis.

"Why?" Japan looked confused, it looked like Prussia, and Romano were shaking their heads too. (Germany was fighting in Russia at the time).

"Because America is likely to want to strike back" Prussia pointed out,

"But they can't if we've taken out all their aircraft carriers" the Japanese man continued to argue, "besides, they could join the allies at any time! But here we can make a move to stop them!"

He saw Italy looking at him warily. Italy didn't like it when any of his allies got too militaristic, he was especially upset because Germany wasn't there to take control.

Romano didn't really care, Prussia was too radical to talk any sense, and Italy... Well no one in their right mind would leave him in charge... So Germany had appointed Japan.

"But what if something goes wrong, like they're all at sea?" Italy couldn't help but admire his brother's question. If Romano's point came true then they'd definitely be in trouble; it was a risky business threatening war with the United States.

"Nothing will go wrong" Japan assured him, speaking a little more kindly, "my men are trained soldiers, they won't get it wrong."

How Italy wished that had been so.

~/~

Germany came back from Russia just at the right time to catch it on the news.

The Japanese air force had bombed Pearl Harbour, while the aircraft carriers were at sea. America had announced war on Japan, that meant war with Germany and Italy too.

"What were you thinking!" Germany demanded, blue eyes glowing with anger, "I thought I could leave you in charge!"

Italy felt sorry watching Japan sink lower and lower into his chair, a sorry and frightened look steeping onto his face.

"Sorry... I wanted to help..." They had never seen Japan so close to tears before.

"Germany..." Italy placed his hand on his friend's arm, he knew Japan was sorry, and something bad had happened; but they just needed to get a move on, there was no going back now.

The western German gave Japan another hard look, then softened, "well I'll expect extra work from you now..."

"Hie!" Japan's face flushed with the happiness of being forgiven. Romano nodded at his brother, giving a small smile. Prussia was the only one who didn't look happy.

"You're letting him off like that!" The Eastern German stood up furiously, narrowing his red eyes at the Japanese man across the table. "You've gone soft West!" He accused, making his way round towards them.

"It's fine" Germany tried to pat his brother's shoulder, but it was knocked back with distaste.

"What would the Fuhrer think of this!" Prussia's hands clenched around the front of Japan's uniform, lifting him off his chair as though it didn't take a single grain of effort.

"Japan!" Italy tried to jump forward to defend his ally.

In retaliation Prussia dropped Japan to the ground, pressing his foot down on his chest so he didn't get away while he focused on Italy.

"No, Italy!" Romano stood up himself, just in time to catch his twin who had been thrown back with an almighty punch.

"Bruder you have to stop now!" Germany's face was filled with shock, but he tried to keep his voice firm, repeating the order again and again, growing more confused as Prussia didn't respond.

"Scheiße! You're Scheiße!" Prussia shouted, bending down to hit Japan round the face, with a hit twice as hard as the one used on Italy.

Finally Germany turned to physical action, grabbing Prussia's shoulders and pulling him away from the trembling eastern nation.

"Enough!" Germany bellowed, motioning for Japan to hurry towards the Italians.

"Verräter!" _Traitor _Prussia growled, twisting his face into a look of hatred; he punched his younger brother across the nose.

A loud crack echoed with the break.

Prussia stormed from the room, his arm stained to the elbow in blood.

Italy left Japan with his brother and hurried to Germany's side.

"H-He can't..." Germany stammered, "He hit me... But he can't...!" Something was panicking Germany beyond reason.

"What's wrong?" Italy cautiously approached his friend, reaching out a soothing hand to reassure the German.

But before he could get there Germany crumpled to the floor, shaking with wide frightened eyes. "You don't understand!" He let out a frantic cry, "he has to do what I tell him to!"

"That doesn't make sense..." Italy bent near Germany's head, "no one has too..."

"That's what he was made to do!" With those words Germany froze, eyes bulging on Italy as if he hadn't seen him before. "Oh Gott!" Germany's hands scrambled forwards to clutch at the Italian.

"Made to do?" Romano's voice could be heard in the background.

"Italy?" Germany's hair was messed up from his panic, eyes a little wider.

"I'm here Germany..." Hugging his friend tightly, Italy felt the German faint against him.

* * *

"So!" America had arrived mere hours ago, and he was already taking charge of the allies. "Okay England you can tackle Germany here, then France take all your men and attack here, Russia you come through here, and China here, then I'll come in and be the hero!"

England considered throwing something at him. Since he'd last seen America he'd been making a list of reasons he annoyed him.

Reasons America's annoying at the moment:

1. He's got a new irritating hero complex

2. Ever since he arrived I never seem to be able to tell him and … what's his name (Canada) apart

3. He's completely forgotten France has been invaded and doesn't have a complete army behind him!

"You're irritating" Russia sounded what they were all thinking.

America glared at him, "I'm just trying to help!" He snapped, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms like a stubborn child.

"Amérique I'm not exactly in a position to lead masses of my people into battle," France had a pained look on his face as he spoke, "my country's been invaded, remember?"

"...Oh right," America looked a little guilty, "...That reminds me... Where are you staying?"

France opened his mouth, then felt a sharp kick from England under the table. A set of green eyes flashed warningly at him for a moment, before they returned to staring in the direction of the window.

"L'Angleterre's place of course~" France beamed, deciding just this once he'd get back at England for something- he had a list long enough of reasons to.

"Bastard!" England lunged at France, knocking him off his chair.

"Nǐ dòuliú zài yīnggélán!" _You're staying with England! _China stared at the two western nations wrestling on the floor.

"Pochemu ne Angliya rasskazatʹ nam?" _Why didn't England tell us? _Russia looked hurt, though everyone knew better than to fall for any of Russia's crocodile smiles.

America looked first and France and England, then at the other two. "You guys didn't know either?" The American couldn't understand other languages but their message was pretty clear.

"Why did you go and tell them!" The Brit punched France hard in the face,

"Why shouldn't I?" The Frenchman smirked, hitting him back.

"Separate!" America shouted, pulling England back. "How about a cooling off period" he suggested, realising as he spoke that this was probably the best idea he'd had since arriving.

* * *

Germany's eyes blinked open.

He was lying in bed, with his head feeling like he'd drank an entire pub's worth of beer. The last thing he could remember was Prussia hitting him. Had the idiot knocked him out!

"Is Germany okay now?" As the world came back into focus he could place Japan and Italy staring worriedly over him.

Japan's face was bruised, and his neck red; but he seemed to have escaped pretty well.

"Arigatōgozaimasu," _Thank you _Japan bowed his head, "I hope you have a swift recovery, and do not suffer after helping me."

Germany nodded groggily, turning his attention to Italy, who was observing him nervously.

"You looked pretty panicked after Prussia hit you..." The Italian murmured, touching Germany's face gently.

For a moment something burned across his vision, then the German ruffled Italy's hair. "Any one would be muddled if Prussia hit you like that," he turned to Japan, glad to see he was nodding; but Italy didn't look reassured.

* * *

England dumped his coat in the hallway; France picked it up and hung it next to his own in the cupboard with an amused sigh.

He knew the Brit would turn on him, the moment he'd poured a few glasses of vodka down his throat. The one thing France couldn't get used to was the British drinking habits. They drank to get drunk.

"What the hell did you tell them that for!" England downed his first shot, slamming the glass down on the table to pour himself another.

France merely smirked at him, knowing it would annoy him even more.

"Fucking, bastard, shitting, son of a bitch, crap Frog!" England screamed, throwing two more shots down his throat.

France had long ago come to the decision that watching England drink was like watching a fish drown.

He sat down opposite the Englishman trying not to concentrate too hard on the intoxicating amount the younger nation was drinking.

France studied England's face slowly. There was so much more he could have told the others. He knew so much about England, including the large secret that the Brit up until a point had managed to hide for god knows how long.

A surge of power touched the Frenchman briefly. Would England do anything he wanted him to do, if he threatened to tell the others...?

"...Bastard..." England hiccuped, his eyes flickering shut.

So it wasn't a violent rampage today, France smiled with a look of relief. But he'd better help the pissed nation up to bed.

Carefully looping his arm under England's he managed to get his ally standing.

"Fruking bastard" England slurred. The made up word made France smile; letting the Brit rest his head on his shoulder.

Finally managing to dump England in bed, he considered changing him, but thought better of it. Even if he held this power, it didn't mean he had to use it.

He got up to leave.

"Stay..." England's thin hand pulled at the corner of his shirt; his face was pale, and frightened.

"What's wrong mon ami?" Feeling his heart give a warning jolt he sat down on the bed next to the other man; his hand fondling his hair softly.

"...Say you'll forgive me okay?"

Faintly France could remember something similar to this; England asking for forgiveness at the strangest of times.

"I forgive you" France replied, not quite sure what he was forgiving for.

England curled up on the bed. "You don't mean it though..." He muttered into his sleep, leaving enough space for France to curl up beside him.

"What is it you need to apologise for...?" The Frenchman whispered, lying down and feeling England's body arch perfectly into his own.

"I'm sorry..." Was all the Brit repeated.


	64. Chapter 55

**1943 – Italy changes sides**

Japan and Italy glanced across the meeting room at each other.

Their German ally had flinched again, one hand half darting to his side; before he caught himself and managed to continue talking as normal.

He seemed to have no memory after the events when Prussia had hit him. But something had definitely changed in Germany since it had taken place.

The scars that Italy had watched cover his back had multiplied in single nights. Sometimes it looked to Italy like Germany couldn't even breath. It was this dictator... He was suffocating him...

"I can't!" Italy banged his fists down on the table, interrupting whatever Germany had been talking about. He knew his two allies were staring at him in shock, but he couldn't look at them as he spoke. "I can't keep fighting for this..." He closed his eyes, trying to find a way to make them understand.

"What are you talking about Italy?"Why did Germany have to be the one to ask that question...

"If we win it will kill you..." The Italian let out in a slow voice, "I don't know the exact reason, but I'm sure it will kill you, or drive you mad like your brother..."

He finally managed to meet eyes with the German, holding the steady blue gaze longer than he'd ever done before.

"If you want to go..." Germany was the first to break eye contact; he turned his head away from Italy, "..I can't make you stay..."

Somehow this acceptance stung Italy more than it would have done if Germany had shouted and hit him.

Japan was still looking at Italy with his mouth open.

Steadily Italy moved away from the table, touching Germany's head gently as he passed, unsettling the Germany's tightly combed hair for what may have been the last time.

"Ich werde Sie am Ende sehen" _I'll see you at the end _Although Germany didn't turn round, Italy could feel the full meaning in his voice,

"Spero di sì" _I hope so _Italy whispered thankfully.

~/~

"What is this!" The Allies stared at the two newcomers that were standing in the doorway looking nervous.

"Our bosses..." Italy mumbled, "they've already discussed it..."

Romano next to him moved closer to his brother, glaring round at the other nations as daring them to say otherwise.

"...Welcome aboard I suppose," China gave a small shrug, standing up to pat Italy and Romano on the shoulder, "welcome to the Allies."

Slowly the others began getting up to welcome them; still eyeing them with distrust and warning.

"mon ami... à ce moment-là" _My friend... At the moment _France glanced at him; letting Italy remember the child he had once played with.

"il mio amico" _My friend _Italy told him. He gave a small smile when France patted his head.

Italy and Romano sat down beside the others, ready for the first meeting of the six Allied countries to begin.

**1944 – D-day landings, Nazis occupy Hungary**

"England..." France scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. They'd finally reached a decision on how to take back his country. However rude England may have been to him during his stay, he had let him stay; given him a room, taken care of him, and continued to fight for his country even before America had joined them.

"Hmm?" The Brit looked up from his paper, his firm eyes looking just to the side of France's face.

"Before we do this thing tommorow... I just wanted to say thank you... You know, for letting me stay..."

"You're welcome," England turned back to his paper, hiding his face from view.

Giving a small smile France wondered over to England's chair, lowering the paper carefully to reveal the Englishman's tear covered face.

"ne pleure pas" _Don't cry _France wiped England's tears away with one finger, pulling England towards his chest for a heart felt hug.

"I'm not crying! Stupid frog!" England sobbed, "why should I care you're going!"

France gave a soft laugh, meaning to pull away and give the obviously confused Brit some space.

"Fuck this!" The crying nation suddenly snapped, pulling himself into France with one grab of the Frenchman's uniform.

England kissing him... France closed his eyes to enjoy the moment.

When England did pull away, he hit his French friend round the head with the back of his hand blushing madly.

"That was just to keep you going for the next fifty years or so, so that you don't jump on me in public..."

"Just public?" The Frenchman smirked, digging his knee into England's crotch.

He'd forgotten of course. The Brit leapt back so quickly that he fell over the back of his chair, before scrambling backwards on his hands till he hit the back wall.

This was something deeper than just not wanting the scar on his side to be seen. France had never seen someone so afraid of the idea of sex. Nervous, yes; worried, yes; but not terrified out of their wits.

"Sorry L'Angleterre" France apologised, rubbing his temple; maybe he ought to try talking to England about it one day, but the day before the Normandy landings wasn't the best one.

"Y-You just caught be by s-suprise" The Brit lied, picking himself off the floor and dusting himself off.

France excused himself to go and make that the small amount of things he had in England were ready for the journey home when they won.

There was of course the portrait he had insisted on bringing with him from France, then there were also the clothes he'd had to pick out from the British shops; They weren't that bad, it seemed some British designers were quite keen on copying the French style.

He smiled when he reached for the sword. Who'd have known England had kept it all this time, and to think that the green eyes that had haunted his nightmares was actually the young nation trying to help him find his way home.

Even from before he knew it, he and England had been bound together on a path they couldn't escape.

France had watched England grow from a defenceless child who no one had expected anything of, to an adolescent determined to make his name in the world. They had fought and worked together; been there when they needed help. Always.

"Je l'aime..." _I love him_ France clamped his hands to his mouth, he hadn't just said that! Did he just say that! The Frenchman felt his legs beginning to shake as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He couldn't...Nations didn't... They couldn't... It was moments like this he wished he still had Spain and Prussia to talk to.

But Spain was cut off from him, at least while the war was going on; and from Italy and Romano's description it sounded like Prussia was beginning to crack up again.

"I love him..." France repeated, bringing his hands to his blushing face, the shock hitting him like a weight to his chest; bringing tears to his eyes.

Hadn't he told himself when all this had started that he didn't feel anything, it was just for convenience.

"Oh merde!" _Oh shit! _There was no other way to look at it, he loved that stupid frigid rosbif, how had this happened!

He was half way through his curses in French when England pushed open the door looking worried.

"Are you okay...?" He asked slowly, watching France beginning to bag his head against the bed frame.

Just looking at England made him feel nervous.

He was France the country of love! And he couldn't even look at England. This was worse than Joan!

He froze. It had been hundreds of years since France had last thought Joan d'arc's name. He hadn't wanted to remember.

Flashes of fire went before his eyes, followed by begs for mercy; apology after apology. Had Joan begged? It didn't sound very like her...

Anger. He could see red anger, darkened only by the black sky above.

Someone lay crumpled and bleeding at his feet, covering their face with their hands. They looked no older than fifteen; sprawled out in the gutter, their blood running thick and fast into the water.

France felt himself kick the boy's head into the stone work of the drain, before his younger self turned away, leaving him to watch.

Was this a dream? How could he remember what he wasn't there to see?

The French town's people were approaching the boy in the same manner as France's younger self had destroyed him.

But it seemed the boy was still alive. His heart beating fast to match his panicked breaths. He knew they were coming for him.

One large man pounced on the boy, hurling him across the street into a gang of younger men; who stabbed at the body with everything they could find. And surely that was what it was. A body.

Following the poor boy as he was thrown from villager to villager it became more apparent that the boy was still holding onto life.

"Now we all know what the French do best don't we!" A group of men were yelling, "shall we show the bastard what we mean!"

A loud cheer went up from the crowd as the men pulled the boy up by his arms, slamming him face first against the wall where they held him.

"non!" France wished he could make the people hear him. Begging his younger self to come back and help; but he knew he wouldn't, otherwise he himself would remember having done so.

A scream split through the calm night sky, followed by another, then another; as the men rutted into the boy almost half the tallest one's height.

Unable to look France had to turn his back.

Tears. He wanted to stop it. He had to stop it. But he couldn't. It was too late.

He waited with his back to the people, counting the seconds until the crowd moved away from the body in the little hours of the morning to get what sleep they could.

Now he knew the boy really was dead. His body so bitterly beaten that it was disfigured; made unrecognisable by the injuries mainly he seemed to have inflicted.

What had the boy done to deserve this?

Bending low, he found that he could touch the soft blood hair that was now thick and matted with blood; with large chunks missing.

Unable to stop himself he turned the limp, dead body.

Wide eyes stared blankly up at him. The soulless form. Green eyes.

Choking on his shock France fell to the ground. The horror of what he'd done finally hitting him.

"England!" But how could he be dead! He was alive, France knew he was alive.

"_A nation that died and came back" _The horrid words echoed in his head, he didn't want to hear them. He hadn't thought for a minuet...!

Feeling this was no time for decency France tore at what was left of England's shirt, turning him so he could get a good look at the side with the black scar. Nothing.

But then he saw it. Running thick, black blood splattered from his side as if cut with an invisible perfect bladed knife.

A hand fell on his shoulder, but he didn't get a chance to see who's before he found himself lying back in bed in England's house 1944.

"Well that's what happens when you bang your head against things" the Brit grumbled, putting his book down on France's bedside table. "What on earth is wrong?" England looked startled at France's sudden tears, and frightened face.

Flinching England felt France's hand go to his side. That side. Caressing his scar like he could see it.

"What are you doing!" England tried to bat him away, only to find himself pulled onto the bed beneath France's body.

"Je suis tellement désolé!" _I am so sorry! _France wept. Remembering the other normal scars on England's body; how many of them had he inflicted that one night he lost his temper.

He kissed the Brit that had frozen in fear underneath him.

England only reacted when France's hands flew to his uniform's coat buttons; throwing it aside, and beginning on the white shirt buttons.

"Get off of me! Descendre de moi!" The Brit struggled, biting down on France's hands, while kicking out with his feet.

"Not this time..." France moved to kiss the Englishman's neck, licking and sucking as much pale skin as he could get in his mouth at one time. Although small gasps had come from England's throat, France was amazed he was still being fought off.

"Va te faire foutre!" _Fuck off! _England screamed in his final act of defence, "Je vous hais!" _I hate you! _

Those were the words that made France pull back.

He could see the marks on the Brit's neck beginning to come up nicely. He hadn't managed to get any of the shirt buttons undone, but maybe that was for the best.

Sitting up he waited for England to do the same. But the Brit just lay on his back with his eyes closed painfully.

"What was it like to die?" The words slipped from the Frenchman's mouth before he could stop them.

"H-How would I know!" England sat bolt upright, fixing France with a sharp glare. England shook his head, lowering his voice to a dangerous level. The green eyes that flashed at France's now, were not flustered, or nervous; they were frightened yes, but angry too. "If you weren't leaving tommorow I'd throw you out onto the street."

The Frenchman watched England get to his feet and leave the room.

Things had gone badly again.


	65. Chapter 56

_Authors note: I've caught up with my updates and writing speed, so chapters won't come five at a time anymore; but I'm still updating quickly_

If Hungary wasn't glaring distastefully at her captor, then she wasn't trying hard enough. Had this really been the man she'd let herself succumb to? Broken her marriage over!

She refused to react when he thrusted into her again; smirking when she saw the irritation spreading over his face.

"For Gott sake!" Once more she did not react when he hit her round the face, whispering sweet insults into her ears.

"You invaded my country" she told him, keeping her tone dull and uninteresting.

"I had too!" Prussia snapped, trying to kiss her; Hungary would not return it. "Bruder's gone mad, I had to be the one to invade; Herr Hitler ordered me!" He clenched at her arm, trying to make her understand his fanatical mind.

The woman laughed; high and cruel. "Weren't you the boy who came here to find land for his brother to invade, and lied so you would have someone to play with!"

"The Fuhrer!" The eastern German shouted again, as if that would explain everything.

Hungary scoffed, managing to lower her blouse and pull her panties back up without Prussia stopping her.

"You told me you were worried about your brother when he fought with France before any of these wars broke out. You thought he would do all these terrible things! But you're doing just as many yourself!"

Prussia stared at her; debating whether to hit her or not. Didn't the fuhrer say a woman should respect her man and be obedient to him? But was he even her's any more?

"Italy came to see me before he changed sides! He told me what you did to Japan, what you did to your brother!"

"...Germany?" Prussia looked confused, his head tilted giving Hungary a muddled look.

"Italy said for what ever reason when you hit him, it frightened Germany; he said that you shouldn't be _able _to disobey him!" Although Hungary had to admit, it was a strange thing for Germany to think.

"..." Prussia's eyes widened, like sense had finally caught him. "Scheiße!" Hungary watched the white haired nation crumple into her in a sobbing mass.

Alarmed by his sudden change in character, the female nation pulled away; afraid this was some kind of trick.

"Please..." Prussia cried, trying to touch her again, "I just need to hold onto you, please..."

In her own silent way, she let him.

"I could kill him. He remembered, I can't believe out of everything he did, that's what he remembers first!"

What he was saying made no sense to Hungary, but she didn't want to enquire further.

Clutching at the woman's shoulders suddenly he pulled her towards him, so they were face to face, with barely an inch between them.

"What do you see?" Prussia asked her, his voice wavering, but sound.

"What am I looking for?"

Prussia just repeated the question.

Giving a sigh, Hungary looked hard into the Prussian's eye.

A flash of lightning outside highlighted the room for a moment. For that moment Hungary saw no pale flesh, no blood red eyes, no sharp teeth, or white hair. She saw a mess of veins and bone, struggling to hold together. Their bonds unnatural as if they had been stuck to each other by hammered nails.

But it was gone as quickly as the lightning.

Prussia was staring at her expectantly.

Taking a deep breath she kissed his lips softly, "I see you..." She whispered, "I have always seen the you inside, because that was who you chose to show to me..."

The German opened his mouth to protest, but she closed it for him.

"Even that night before my wedding, even now; you aren't doing this for orders, you're doing it because inside that's what you want to do."

She felt Prussia's breath deepen, moving at a slower pace. He closed his eyes; pressing their foreheads together, hands staying by his side.

"I love you more than I'd ever of thought it possible to love someone" he murmured, conveying his feeling's through the single touch.

"Azután szeress," _Then love me_ she touched his cheek gently, "don't try and frighten me, or ignore me..."

He kissed her softly, tenderly; before lying down on the bed, moving over so she could lie next to him.

"Lassen Sie uns etwas zu schlafen." _Let's get some sleep. _He motioned for her to lie next to him.

"What are you doing?" Again to Hungary it seemed like some sort of trick.

"Dich zu lieben." _Loving you._

**1945 – Mussolini shot, Hitler commits subside, two nuclear bombs are dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima in Japan, End of WW2**

Usually when a leader is shot or in some other way killed; a nation feels like a hole is being torn through its very heart. But this was different.

The Italian twins, and the German brothers felt only relief when the triggers were pulled on their leaders- whether it was by their own hand or somebody else's.

The shot rippled through their countries, screaming freedom to every man, woman, and child on the streets.

Germany and Prussia signed their defeat.

But the war was still not over. As America told England and France; "I was at war with Japan, not Germany; and until that bastard gives up then I'm still at war."

It seemed that in Japan's customs, it was impossible to surrender. It wasn't that Japan himself didn't want the war to be over; but unlike Germany and Italy, his dictator was still very much alive.

America couldn't understand it. Why didn't Japan just surrender? They were obviously surrounded.

When the Japanese nation came to meet him and his line of men on the edge of the country, he looked reluctant, like someone had needed to push him out here.

"We have your trade routes cut, and the country surrounded..." America narrowed his eyes at Japan, "do you surrender?"

He watched the dark haired nation shudder as he spoke, eyes tightly closed- with the pain touching on his face.

"I can't surrender" he muttered, shaking his head slowly, "we can't surrender."

"What the hell!" America lunged forward grabbing Japan by the front of his uniform, "What the fuck do I have to do to make you surrender!"

The blond nation only grew more irritated when Japan did not reply. He threw the other nation to the ground, turning to speak to his men; "drop those new bombs" he ordered, turning back to Japan he smiled, "then we'll see what you think about it."

The dark haired man forced himself to stay strong. They had to stay resilient to the American attacks, that was how you got victory.

He knew America had scarpered; his bombs were on their way.

Breathing in deeply Japan waited for the blow. He'd seen Germany's country being bombed during the war in Europe, whole cities had practically been flattened.

But it was withstandable.

That was what Japan told himself. Before the first bomb hit.

The first Nuclear bomb.

Blood choked in Japan's throat, tearing his flesh away from his neck; forcing him to the ground with an invisible force.

He groped around blindly, trying to find something to pull himself up with. His body was shaking all over with muscle spasms. The scarlet liquid seemed to spit from every pour in his body; the stench overpowering; threatening to knock the nation out.

People screamed in his head; and they were only the lucky ones who were still alive (for now at least). People had been disintegrated against walls of the city, their black imprints frozen in time against the dusty brick work.

Managing to find his feet Japan pulled himself up; digging his sword in the ground to hoist himself up. He could see the destroyed city, and the injured either dying or screaming for help. Had it finished?

It was too early to think that.

He felt another bomb strike the ground- another city this time. Hiroshima and Nagasaki had been hit.

Using the last of his energy he let out a cry of defeat. Anything to make this stop, anything!

His body and country were broken.

The previously calm and logically spoken nation lay on his back, eyes open wide; letting the cuts tear themselves open, welcoming the blood that dribbled down his chin.

"Italy... Germany..." Japan heard himself whisper the names of his friends. He wanted to see them again. "Please..." He asked himself, "Please don't die..."

"Oh my God!" A coat was thrown over Japan, and someone was kneeling by his side. Their hands trembling fearfully over his body.

"I-I surrender..." Japan spluttered, closing his eyes slowly- he was so tired, ...and those flowers in the field seemed so welcoming.

"You can't die!" The figure shook him, "I can't stay long, I need to go sort this out; but your friends are coming!"

Friends? Surely Germany and Italy couldn't get out here this quickly.

"I'm sorry" the figure whispered, touching Japan's forehead gently with his hand, "I will fix this!"

More nations were approaching them, but they weren't Germany or Italy.

"What's happened to you!" Korea's voice, "you did this didn't you bastard!" The younger nation punched the figure hard round the face.

"Korea leave him..." Taiwan pulled the younger boy towards Japan again. "China and Hong Kong are on their way."

"But me and China are on different sides...?" The Japanese nation let out another violent cough, still fighting to keep his eyes open.

Taiwan shook her head, laughing tearfully, "you've always been our friend; we all grew up together, and China took care of us..."

Japan could feel the other Asian nations gathering round him. The figure had disappeared behind them, moving off before they turned on him.

"Are you ready?" China wiped the blood from Japan's vision.

This was what they had been waiting for. Those words that had echoed round their minds when the first world war had first been announced was calling them again.

Managing to struggle to his feet with the other's help, they made progress towards the Japanese coast. None of them knew where they were going, but they knew they were going the right way.

~/~

Germany stumbled. The war was over... But a pain still tore at his chest; he could feel the other nations looking at him, worried by him, judging him. They would not punish him like last time, but they didn't trust him.

"And why should they...?" He dropped to his knees, "ever since I became a country what have I done...?" That was when it all really hit him; "what have I done?"

Breathing in quickly, Germany felt the rain beginning to fall- drenching the world around him. The sky was crying.

The German felt his own tears following; mingling with the rain like brothers. He choked, and sobbed; not caring how ridiculous he might look kneeling on the muddy ground in the rain, somewhere near the French border.

He only turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Italy's own eyes were thick with tears; face shaking in devastation. He fell next to Germany, just close enough so their arms were brushing against the other's.

Japan had found a sudden rush of energy. Pulling himself from China's grip he ran to where he could see the river of tears; his own ready to join them.

He curled next to his former allies; blood mixing in the water beneath them.

The Axis powers cried, feeling more alone than they'd ever done in their lives.

In the fog France and England stood, before making their way forwards to join their old enemies. Their own cries joining the lost ground between Germany and France.

China, and Russia were moving towards them. China's eyes were red, and he was sniffing hard; Russia wiped his on his scarf hurriedly- but nothing would stop them.

America arrived, pulling Canada behind him. Both of them with their fists to their eyes, looking like little lost children in the rain.

The powers of the world on their knees.

Taiwan, Korea, and Hong Kong joined them; holding their heads towards the black sky.

It seemed like a horn, bringing all the nations to this one spot.

Italy caught sight of his brother and Spain, trembling as they walked; all the unspoken pain in their eyes overflowing with grief.

Belgium and The Netherlands came with Luxembourg, followed by England's brothers.

The Scandinavians were clinging to each other so hard for support it almost seemed like they wouldn't make it to the meeting spot, but some how they struggled on before falling into the mud. Denmark's hands covered his eyes, howling in horror.

Even Switzerland was unable to hold back his own tears while he tried to mop Liechtenstein's as they walked clumsily northwards into Germany.

The Baltics and Poland trembled forwards, hands locked firmly as if in comfort; though a meaning ran deeper than the moment.

Belarus and Ukraine fell round their brother, joining him; with their heads buried in the scarf's patchy material.

Austria led the smaller European nations with his heavy footsteps. Nations in a number The Roman Empire himself had never believed possible.

Greece and Turkey were leant against each other in their struggle. Turkey's finger's wrapped round the back of Greece's hair; both remembering days so old that even they could not remember fully. The blood that had been spilled at Troy.

Hungary lead Prussia by hand, letting him bury his head in her hair.

Even the African nations, and further Asian nations were clambering towards them. Followed by Australia, New Zealand, South America; and any other nation you could possibly think of.

No words were spoken.

The tears just fell, shedding a cry for every life lost through the wars and battles so that they had pulled through to fight another day.

_It could never happen again. Never again._


	66. Chapter 57

**1948 – The Nuremberg trials**

The air felt thick and hot. Beside him, Italy could feel Germany trembling through his passive face. He watched his people guilty and frightened alike step forward to be questioned by the judge.

"You don't have to watch..." Italy carefully took the German's hand in his own. Germany's older brother had locked himself in his room and told everyone he wouldn't come out until it was over.

"...I have to watch" Germany swallowed, squeezing the other man's hand- seeking comfort.

Nodding silently Italy turned to watch England, France, and Russia, who were all looking just as unsettled.

Russia had lost millions of people at the Nazi hand, France and many other nations had suffered under their rule, and England had come close to the edge with the Battle of Britain.

But this time they hadn't forgotten Germany's sufferings as well. Only those directly responsible for crimes against humanity would be punished.

However unlike Germany they still seemed unattached to the full effect of what had happened. Germany and Prussia remembered, and could still feel with all their hearts the monsters they had briefly become.

The first trial took all day, of course the punishment was death.

As they left the three Allies gave Germany gentle looks, France even patted him on the shoulder. Italy stayed with him till everyone had left the room.

The first sign that the German was crying was the small tremble from his shoulders; then he fell to his knees on the cold carpeted floor of the court.

The Italian knealed with him placing his soft hands either side of Germany's face; whispering soft words in his ear.

"-I'm sorry," Italy kissed his forehead, resisting a small gasp when Germany raised his head to kiss him back on the cheek.

Germany's hands travelled to grip at his former alley's shoulders, moving his mouth to Italy's neck; caressing the skin with his mouth.

"G-Germany...?" While Italy wasn't horrified, he certainly was surprised, "What are you doing?" This was probably only because he was in distress... Italy laughed uncertainly, that had to be it. Right?

He tried to move backwards, then one of Germany's hands dropped from his shoulder to touch his lower regions, the other hand still held him in place; lips continuing their work.

"P-Please Germany, you don't know what you're doing..."

"Don't I!" His friend's sudden anger caught him off-guard.

The Southern European nation found himself on his back with Germany straddling over him, running his hands under Italy's shirt.

"It's been so long..." Germany groaned, rocking his hips gently; giving a small smirk as Italy moaned softly to himself.

"...So long?" Italy repeated, blinking up at the blond nation. But he was cut off by a sudden kiss.

A part of Italy made him cling to the front of Germany's shirt, breathing in the deep scent till every nerve in his body tingled.

A flush of hope tickled the corner of Italy's mouth; maybe Germany really did feel the same way... You certainly couldn't kiss someone like this and not like them...

Germany's hands were at his trousers now, swirling his tongue along the side of the Italian's face. Closing his eyes, Italy felt one of the German digits push up inside him.

Tears leaked from his eyes, hands clawing at the carpet to stop himself instinctively trying to pull back out.

The second finger had him crying silently; but Germany kissed the tears away, his other hand running along Italy's erection.

Finally a third finger was pushed into place.

Unable to stop himself Italy arched his back, so his shirtless chest blushed against Germany's shirt. Why was it always so painful...?

The other nation hushed his sobs with a soft noise, removing his fingers gently. Italy heard Germany undoing the zip at the front of his trousers; kicking them along with his boxers to his ankles, wasting no time before thrusting into the smaller man.

Italy gave a short scream, clutching harder at the carpet; nails tearing on the material.

The German readjusted, moving slower, so that Italy could get used to the pace.

"Italy..." Germany gave a small breath, kissing the nation beneath him, increasing the pace slightly.

The Italian knew he was coming close to cumming over Germany's chest, but he wanted to hold on a little longer, not wanting the moment to end.

Feeling the German release inside him Italy did the same; falling down on the carpet, his limbs feeling numb.

He shouldn't have had sex with Gernany... The German obviously wasn't really aware of what he had done. Hopefully if Italy got him changed and cleaned up, Germany would dismiss it as a crazed dream or something like that.

"I'm sorry" Italy whispered, forcing himself to sit up, despite his aching muscles; the German was drifting asleep beside him.

"Italy..." Germany reached out for his hand, forcing the Italian to look him in the eye. Now that Italy was staring at him, he could see a strangeness in the German's face. His normally flat hair was ruffled from where Italy had run his fingers through it, and his blue eyes looked softer; almost like...

"Italy please remember that whatever happens I'll always love you..." With that concluding sentence Germany really was asleep.

Italy froze, his heart pounding. Those words; he'd never forgotten the first time they were spoken. But... How?

Shaking his head hurriedly he remembered Hungary's warning, he was just making things up to draw a link between Germany and Roma. He loved Germany he knew that much without even having to see Roma in him.

But he needed to get to work. There was no way Germany would want to have to remember what had happened between them, and Italy didn't want to have to tell him.

**1950- The McCarthy witch hunts**

Canada batted his brother's hand away from his hair. He'd come over to see what exactly was going on this side of the border. He'd heard people were being thrown out of America, and had begun heading into Europe or over to his country.

"Don't you understand...?" America's fingers ignored the Canadian's fighting hands, as they brushed against the other man's blond hair.

"No I don't!" Canada didn't like how blank America sounded; his blue eyes glazed over as if moving around in a dream.

"It's for the good of America, we can't have that communist scum walking around can we..." His fingers left Canada's hair when he moved away from the sofa to stare out of the window. Looking out of the high apartment view at New York city below.

"Even if the only reason they stand charged is because they happened to bump into a known communist twenty years ago!" Canada narrowed his violet eyes at America's back, "I even heard of one who just hung up a red towel in the backyard and found themselves brought up in front of that 'Witch hunter' in court!"

But it didn't appear like the other nation was listening.

"You look like him..." America spun around, moving swiftly towards his friend; clutching at his face so they were looking each other in the eye.

"You're hurting me..." The Canadian shook his head, trying to prise America's nails from the sides of his face.

What America did next both hurt, and shocked him.

The American spat in his eyes, forcing the other nation beneath him on the sofa; bringing his nails down in the direction of Canada's eyes. Realising what America was going to do the Canadian moved his head away.

Giving a hiss of anger America came at him again; trying to claw at the eyes he found so offensive.

"Please stop!" Canada tried once more to call his friend back to his senses. The areas around his eyes were bleeding and bruised. He didn't need to ask who it was America saw in his eyes. The relationship between America and Russia hadn't been very good recently.

"Filthy communist bastard!" This time the hand that had swept over his hair grasped it painfully, pulling hard. Canada gave a cry of pain.

America wasn't even at war (yet) and already he looked like he was in the thick of it.

~/~

France had his feet propped up on a stool in front of the fire, and was reading one of England's books that he'd stolen from one of his bookshelves last time he was there.

A knock at the door drew him back out of the pages.

It couldn't be England, because he'd just been on the phone with him- England had been demanding his book back, but couldn't actually come and get it himself because he was in a meeting with his boss.

Getting to his feet he strolled from the room into the front hall.

It couldn't be Spain or Prussia either; Spain was completely crippled with debt and was working painfully hard to get out of it, and Prussia was finding it difficult to get away now that Russia was slowly taking over his area of Germany.

Opening the door carefully, he peered out.

Canada stared back fearfully; the rims of his eyes looked dark but France couldn't quite tell in the light.

Motioning his once young ward forward he tilted his head so that it was easier to get a better look at the Canadian.

It seemed everywhere round Canada's eyes and cheeks were thick set in clotted scabs, bruises covered him all over, and his beautiful hair had been torn out in places, blood forming on his scalp where it had once been.

"Mon Droit!" France hurried him into the kitchen where he could get the younger nation cleaned up, "what on earth happened to you!"

Canada shook his head tearfully, closing his eyes as if they were the source of the strong guilt that France could feel flowing of the younger nation.

"You silly boy" France sighed, dabbing a wet towel against Canada's head, "your so much like L'Angleterre in these situations, you haven't done anything wrong; please do not keep asking for forgiveness from whoever did this, because I can assure you it is entirely their fault..." France sounded genuine as he spoke, belief flooding through his words like a tidal wave.

"It's my fault I look like this..." Canada sniffed, shifting uncomfortably as France turned the towel gently on his eyes.

"You are beautiful Canada who says other whys?"

"A-America..." The other nation's name came out as a hiccup and a mutter.

Trying to unsuccessfully mask his shock France continued to dab. "What did you argue about?"

"...I argued with him about those witch hunts in America, and he told me I looked like a communist... Because my eyes are like Russia's..."

France gave a scoff, "of course they are, you two share a border; me, L'Angleterre, Suisse and L'Allemagne, both look faintly similar; we were all born near each other."

The Canadian sniffed again, but he looked a bit more comfortable.

"You know I always thought you were more like me, and America like England..." France turned his head away, "but I wasn't completely right was I?"

"Weren't you?" Canada felt that was all he could say in the subject he didn't really understand.

"If it makes you feel any better, the moment America realises what he's done he'll never forget it."

France finished his dabbing, and helped the younger man to his feet, "come on, I'll get you into one of the spare rooms for the night."


	67. Chapter 58

**1961 – The Berlin Wall**

"Gott no!" Prussia bit down hard on Russia's hand, trying to pull away back to his brother; but the wall was blocking his way.

"You're going to live with me now" Russia told him, trying to pull him away towards his own country. Russia was taken by surprise at the sudden wail of pain that Prussia let out as he was forced further and further away from his brother.

"You don't understand!" Prussia's eyes streamed, as he tugged again against Russia's grip, letting out another staggering cry. "I need to be on his side!"

"But you're on my side..." Russia sounded childishly confused as he began to drag again.

Prussia's form was twitching under his arm, limbs lashing out like he no longer had control over them.

"I tried it once!" The red eyes nation tried to explain, "I fought against him because of my anger at Austria, and it almost tore me apart!"

Russia wasn't listening, his strong arm wrapped more firmly around the struggling nation. "You'll like it at my house, Hungary left about five years ago, but I'll let you visit her..." Russia gave a small smile as Prussia flinched.

Russia wasn't as slow as he looked.

He'd caught hold of the one possible suggestion that could turn Prussia away from his brother.

"H-Hungary...?" It had been years; ever since she'd been invaded by the soviets he'd had to stay away, but now she was free and he had free access to get there...

Russia slackened his grip steadily, now that Prussia was coming with him without struggling. Of course it still tore at his heart like his whole body was being pulled away at the joints, but he didn't care, he wanted to see Hungary again.

They were greeted at Russia's house by Lithuania and Estonia.

Prussia didn't like the pitying look they were giving him. No one pitted _him_! Lithuania had fallen so low since he'd defeated Prussia all those years ago, he didn't have the right!

Whatever Russia had done to them he would not let happen to him. While he was only the nation of half of Germany, as long as his brother remained stable then he would be in no position to be bossed around.

~/~

Germany stared blankly at the large wall that split his country in two. Was there anyway he could get over and bring his brother back...?

As much as he was loathed to admit it, without his brother he felt empty, like some part of him was missing. Could Prussia turn against him?

Shaking his head quickly Germany knew that wasn't true. Unless Prussia had a superior motive he could not harm his brother; and Germany knew that Prussia was put through physical pain for going against him as well.

Of course there was Hungary behind the Iron curtain. Prussia may agree to go just to see her.

Imagining Prussia hopelessly in love made Germany smile for a moment, but then he realised just how frightening it was. The idea of being so in love with somebody you would deny even duty and life to be with them.

"Would I ever do something like that?" He wondered aloud to himself.

"Something like what?" Italy stood a little way off watching him carefully.

The two had grown closer again since Germany had founded the European Union with Italy, Belgium, The Netherlands and France a few years ago. England had refused to join.

Yet again the Brit was trying to separate himself off from them; it couldn't be healthy.

"I was just wondering what it would be like to be in love..." Germany felt stupid the moment he'd spoken. His face flushed red, "that is... I mean..."

"...It's a nice feeling" Italy spoke slowly, "but it can hurt too..." Germany hated it when Italy sounded serious, it always depressed him.

"You've been in love with loads of pretty girls though" Germany shrugged, trying to dismiss it in a hope Italy would start bouncing around again, offering to make pasta.

"Never like I was with him..." The voice was a whisper, the German wasn't even sure he was meant to have heard it.

"Who?" Something cut in Germany's gut, Italy had really been in love with someone?

Then he remembered the fight during the last world war between the two Italy brothers. The Holy Roman Empire...

Was he feeling envious of a long dead nation? Over Italy!

"No" he shook his head, realising it sounded a bit out of place to those who couldn't understand what he'd been thinking.

"Veh?" Italy looked up at him with puzzlement, then smiled cheerfully again, "come on let's go back to Germany's house and make pasta."

**1973 – Britain joins EU**

"Shut up bastard!" England snapped, signing his name at the bottom of the already growing list of countries.

"I didn't say anything" France smirked, lounging back at the other end of the EU headquarters,

"No, but you were thinking it!" The Brit threw the pen at him, missed, and gave another huff of anger.

Germany and the Italy brothers were discussing something in a corner, while Belgium, Luxembourg, and The Netherlands sat quietly; watching the others.

Denmark was charging around and bothering everybody because he didn't know them very well.

England narrowed his eyes when Denmark glanced at him, he smiled with satisfaction to see the Dane glance away hastily and make his way over to Germany and the Italian brothers.

"Now, now L'Angleterre you can't keep holding grudges like that," France sidled up to him, resting his arm on the smaller man's head. "You haven't really seen him since you were a tiny child..."

"After he'd beaten the shit out of me for not telling him my name!" The younger man hissed, keeping his voice down so they wouldn't be overheard.

"He was young too" France told him firmly, "I heard he calmed down after he lost Norway and Iceland from his empire..." The Frenchman paused, "we thought you'd calm down after losing yours too,"

"Been discussing me have you!" The Englishman growled, stepping away from France, "and I didn't _lose _it, I just let them go!"

"Right..." France didn't sound very believing.

With an furious splutter, the Brit stormed from the room. Trying not to feel upset.

It hadn't been easy for him signing on after everyone else, but he had swallowed his pride and done it, and now all they seemed to be able to do was ignore him or make fun of him!

"England I'm sorry!" France was hurrying out of the room behind him.

What did he care? The younger man thought to himself gloomily, not turning around. He wanted Europe to be like what it once was, where everyone was fighting each other all the time, and something was always happening. It was boring now.

France caught hold of his arm, turning him so they were facing each other. "Sorry for what I said in there, I know you're nervous, but please come back; I'm glad you're here, Germany's too strict, the Italies get scared of everything, and everyone else just keeps themselves to themselves..." He looked bashfully at the ground, "It'll be lots more fun now you're here..."

"R-Really?" England couldn't stop himself blushing at France's compliment, only then noticing that The French nation's hand had slipped from his arm to his hand.

"Of course" France beamed, "just try not to start a war..."

"What do you mean by that!" England demanded, trying to stop himself from smiling when France burst out laughing.

**1975- Franco dies**

A democracy? Like the western European nations?

Maybe he could try it now that his dictator was dead, after all the rest of the nations all seemed pretty happy with it, and maybe it would give him more time to visit Romano...

Spain smiled happily to himself, he definitely had to keep it in mind, and bring Romano lots of tomatoes the next time they saw each other.

He turned cheerfully on his heel, dancing towards the town square.

A sudden bolt went through the Spaniard; hurling him to the ground. The world seemed to be spinning around him, dancing in black swirls.

"W-What is this!" Spain turned his head rapidly from side to side, trying to pull his vision back together again.

He was watching a young boy with brown hair, watching a woman die with a baby in his arms. The people were talking but he couldn't hear them... He knew what they were saying anyway...

"Stop!" He screamed, covering his head with his hands, closing his eyes; but the images were burned into his mind.

Then it all changed; he was back in the streets of Spain, and yet he wasn't. Only one figure stood before him; dressed in a flowing black cloak. From what Spain could see it was a woman with cracked hands and long red nails.

"What do you want?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, this couldn't be a good thing.

When the figure spoke it was like listening to a shadow, "do you want to know what happened to the boy after his father took him away?"

...Know what happened to him? Spain hesitated, surely it wasn't for him to know if Romano didn't want to tell him.

"Where he got those scars you saw..." The figure continued.

Now Spain could see himself and Romano on that short night they had spent together after France had invaded Italy. He could remember those scars all over Romano's body without even having to invision it again.

Clenching his fists angrily Spain thought back to how hesitant Romano had been about talking about his father. He needed to know, he wanted to know what that bastard had done to Romano.

"I have one condition..." The figure placed her long nail on his lips, "when you next see me you are to say nothing until I am gone from your sight, do we have a deal?"

Currently Spain wasn't focusing too hard on anything except what he wanted to hear.

"I agree, just show me!" He was half tempted to reach out and tug at the woman, but he felt common sense prevail, he saw her nod.

_The first thing Spain saw was red. Red for anger, Red for pain._

_Romano was crying on the ground his wrists covered in blood, with a knife in one hand._

"_Do it you worthless shit!" Markus shouted, pulling the child off his feet, _

"_I can't father, it hurts!" Romano wailed back, dropping the knife to the ground. Reaching across to try and stop the bleeding._

_The boy was lifted by a hand around his throat._

_His father was dragging him to a strong looking door. Spain ran with them, a look of horror passing him as he recognised the man that the little girl he had raised had fallen in love with._

_Romano was thrown through the door. The Spaniard followed him in, hearing the door slam and lock behind the two of them._

_The tiny boy broke down into tears, staring down at the foaming rats behind him. He began hammering on the door._

"_Please let me out father, please!" The torturous cries were almost too much for Spain to bare. He wanted to go back just so he could kill Markus, or maybe even further back; he shouldn't have given Romano to him at all.  
_

_There was an odd scraping noise as the knife was pushed under the bottom of the door._

"_Do it!" The man hissed, "Do it and I'll let you sleep on a sack under the table!"_

_Spain's stomach gave a twist as he saw Romano's face light up like this was a treat._

_He couldn't watch, as Romano cut himself again and again asking if he'd done enough, but it never was. _

_He cut away at his skin until there was little blood left. Only once he'd collapsed did the door open and the tall figure drag his son out of the room in the direction of the kitchen._

"_Rom_ano!" Spain felt his cry carry from the vision back to the present, and for just a moment Markus had looked round like he could see him.

"Wake up you stupid bastard!" The Spaniard slowly opened his green eyes, had it all been a nightmare...?

He was lying in bed with Romano and Italy standing around him.

"Is he okay?" France's voice?

And could he see Prussia too?

"We came to congratulate you after Franco died..." Italy murmured, "we were looking for you, then we saw this crowd in the street, you'd collapsed onto the ground and were screaming rather loudly..."

Spain felt Romano caressing his forehead gently, moving his damp hair away from his sweaty forehead.

"You're ill" Romano told him decisively, "stay still and try to go back to sleep,"

"...But..." Spain wanted to question the other nation on what he'd seen, but his eyes were growing heavier again.

"I'll stay with you" the southern Italian whispered.


	68. Chapter 59

"R-Romano..." Spain groped around blindly reaching around for the man who'd said he'd stay with him. Surely Romano hadn't just been bluffing...

"Calm down stupid!" A hand caught his own, squeezing it tightly, "you've been asleep for the last week, you're strength must be down..."

A week! Spain blinked open his tired eyes, forcing a weak smile up at the blurred shape of Romano's face. But he could see what the Southern Italian nation meant, he was almost too weak to keep his smile up.

"I'll get you some food..." Romano bent down to kiss him lightly on the forehead, "don't go back to sleep while I'm gone."

The Spaniard waited patiently for the other nation's return. Trying to remember exactly what had happened between now and when he fainted. The sudden image of Markus returned. The very thought seemed to return some of his strength to him.

"Romano!" He sat up quickly, wondering if his legs would support his weight. But Romano had returned the moment he called.

"What's wrong?" Worry was high in the other man's voice as he felt around for a temperature or some source of pain.

All he could do was freeze when Spain burst into tears and pulled him down next to him on the bed. The Spaniard had his arms wrapped tightly around the Italian's waist, and was crying hard into his chest. Tentatively Romano wrapped his arms around Spain's back to hug him back.

"Crying doesn't suit you..." He whispered, moving Spain down beneath him so he could kiss his mouth.

An old sense was awoken when Spain kissed him back. What did it matter that the Spanish nation had known his name, he probably would have told him anyway...

Romano pulled back from the kiss, staring softly into the green eyes below.

"Name?" He asked, touching Spain's face gently with his hand, when the other nation just stared at him in surprise Romano rolled his eyes, "you know mine so tell me yours?"

Why was Spain hesitating?

The Italian narrowed his eyes, getting off him so he was sitting on the bed now, making to go.

"Antonio," the words seemed to choke in Spain's throat as he spoke them, and more tears swam to his eyes, but he clutched at Romano's sleeve like he wouldn't ever let go. "Antonio" he repeated.

Romano smiled moving back into his position over the Spaniard.

"Antonio..." The Italian whispered into Spain's ear, sending a tingle down his and Spain's spine.

"Lovino" Spain replied, welcoming the kiss back when the man lowered his mouth back to his.

Antonio moaned lightly into the kiss, hands shaking near the buckle on Lovino's trousers.

"You're still ill" Lovino told him firmly. It annoyed the Spaniard a little to hear his old ward sounding so reasonable,

"Please..." He begged. It had been so long, and Antonio didn't want to make any mistakes this time; he'd just have to keep what he'd seen to himself for now.

"If it's too much just tell me to stop..." That eagerness in Lovino's voice; did he want this too...?

The Italian danced his light fingers over Spain's shirts buttons, kissing his chest as he went, touching the Spanish skin with the tips of his fingers where he worked on the buttons.

He smirked happily when the man beneath his gave a sharp moan of pleasure. He allowed Antonio to remove his shirt; knowing that the Spanish nation didn't entirely like to be dominated.

He used the distraction to undo the belt around Antonio's waist; pulling down his boxers and trousers in one, catching his hand on the erection.

The effect was immediate. Antonio fell back down to the bed with an orgasmic sigh; breath coming out hot and fast, as Lovino whipped his hand along the throbbing member.

"Faster..." The man gasped, clutching at the bed sheets trying to contain what Lovino was putting him through.

"Ti amo" the Italian whispered, applying a light pressure to the tip. Antonio felt himself cum over the touching hands.

"Te quiero!~" The Spaniard reached up to kiss his lover again, meeting his lips with as much passion as he could draw from his country.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this while you're ill?" Lovino touched his forehead gently, clearly still not happy with what he felt.

"Usted me está matando Lovino!" _You are killing me Lovino! _Antonio rocked his hips against the Southern Italian's waistline. There was no way he was going to part with information he had kept as secret as his name and not expect anything in return.

He was revealed to see Lovino roll his eyes and nod.

Since the last time they had partaken in this act, different liquids had been found to make it easier.

Lovino reached for the oil he'd carried up from the kitchen when he'd been called up. He had left on Antonio's bedside table.

He poured some of the contents over his fingers before thrusting the first finger inside the other man.

"L-Lovi!~" With a short cry Antonio clutched harder at the sheets, closing his eyes; he knew the first finger was always the worst one.

**1979- Cold war begins**

"War...?" America was surprised how unenthusiastic the Europeans seemed about this. To them this was just something for there protection because they had to.

But to America it was something so much more, didn't they understand communist bastards like that needed to be killed with enthusiasm and no mercy.

"It's not like we won't support you..." England rubbed the back of his head, looking uncertaintly at France, "but it's just so you know we will only send what troops we can."

Clicking his tongue America glared at his former guardians; he'd been hoping for their unconditional support.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," France touched England's arm gently as they exchanged a firm look, before France made his way over to the American super nation (as he liked to call himself).

Germany who had also been at the meeting cleared his throat discreetly, moving quickly out of the room.

"What?" America's tone was exasperated, he needed to get back to his own country to sort things out before Russia got started.

"Have you seen Canada lately?" The Frenchman folded his arms, fixing the other nation with a strict look; like he was still a child.

"Canada! Nobody sees Canada," he turned shrugging, "haven't seen him in ages,"

"No" France growled, seizing his shoulder so they were facing one another again, "that's because he's spent the last few years in my house terrified to come home. Can you tell me how you and Canada's meeting went last time you saw each other!"

Something twitched in America's expression, but he clearly didn't notice it because he gave another huff of annoyance, "can this wait till another time old man?"

"You beat the shit out of him!" France pulled the younger nation back by the front of his shirt, boring his glare deep into the set of darker blue eyes that glared back.

"It was just a deterrent, to make sure he didn't join Russia's side!" America snapped back, trying to pull himself free of France's grasp.

"You pulled chunks of his lovely hair out for that!" The Frenchman voluntarily released him, "just you wait till this war is over and you remember what you've done. You won't feel the same way about it then!"

"Maybe I'll forget it!" America spat, "It's nothing to worry about!"

"You won't forget it because I won't let you!" France's fist clapped round the American's head.

But of course you couldn't hit the United States of America without getting hit back at least twice as hard.

France clutched at his broken nose, wincing painfully; but he still spat at America's feet, "trust me, it's better you find out now than later!"

With the Frenchman's final hiss America slammed the door behind him.

The Brit moved lightly across the room, hesitantly bending down to examine France's face.

"Broken" he confirmed, taking one look at the other's nose, "I think there's a first aid box down the hallway that Germany had put there..." England gave a sly smile, "you know after that time I knocked you through the second story window during an EU meeting."

"Bastard" France smirked, accepting England's help to get him back on his feet. He turned distantly to look at the opposite door that America had run through, "I hope he understands what I was trying to tell him."

~/~

Liechtenstein looked out worriedly at the growing black skies; that was never a good sign. She'd heard relationships with Soviet Union were bad but she didn't know they would actually announce war. Not after what they'd put themselves through the war that had caused even nutral nations like her and her brother to be reduced to tears.

"Come inside" Switzerland put an arm round her shoulders leading her back inside the manor.

He missed her long golden hair, but even he had to admit the new short style did look cute. Even though she was old enough now, he still couldn't quite build up the courage to admit his feelings to her.

"Brother...?" Switzerland flinched at her words, it always put him off when she called him that, it made him feel dirty.

"What is it?" He sat her down next to him on the sofa in the sitting room, rubbing his temples in an exhausted fashion. She probably didn't know how much his country was really worrying about this war. After all the soviets were practically bordering him, would they respect his neutrality?

What about Liechtenstein? He'd heard what had happened to nations inside the Soviet union. Would Russia hurt her!

"Are you okay?" She leaned forwards to touch his forehead, "you look so worried...?"

"I'm fine" he lied, tacking her hand carefully and moving it away from him; her touching him, and not being able to touch back always irritated him.

And usually she respected this distance, but today it seemed like she wasn't having any of it. Her hand moved from his forehead to his chest, shifting under his shirt to feel his heartbeat.

"It's racing!" She sounded surprised, pressing up against him. Was she doing this deliberately!

He tried to move her back again, and again she pressed closer.

"I-I have to go and sort something out," without stopping to think he pushed her away as hard as he could and fled the room.

Liechtenstein watched him go and gave a small sigh, did he not understand what she was trying to tell him?

**1987 – Greece and Turkey at the brink of conflict over Cyprus**

The two glared hard at each other across the land. The people of Cyprus and their nation had retreated to what they considered as safe places to hide.

Of course it had been _accidental_, they just happened to bump into one another in the country they were arguing over.

"What ever makes you think this country is yours!" Turkey shouted across the fifty meters that separated them, "or is Greece so bankrupt you need help!"

"Shut it, or I'll come over there and stick one of your own swords down your throat!" The Greek yelled back.

He indeed looked like he was readying to make forward and pounce on the Turk. With his eyes narrowed and poised to run.

They had both been warned about fighting by the other European countries, but sometimes the effort was almost too much to bare.

But Turkey had turned, holding his hand above his eyes to shelter them from the sun. "I'm too busy to fight you now" he shrugged, moving back towards his country without another glance at the Greek.

This was always strange behaviour when Turkey decided he didn't want to fight; but it seemed to be happening more and more often.


	69. Chapter 60

**1989 – The Berlin wall comes down**

Prussia gripped Hungary's hand tightly in his own, they were here to watch the wall burn. Hopefully his brother would let him visit her now when they were reunited, or he could persuade Hungary to stay here until Russia lost complete control, which seemed like it was going to happen any time soon now.

"What if he isn't there...?" Prussia felt a sudden tightness in his chest, did the wall coming down mean as much to Germany as it did to him?

He turned his head to allow the female nation to kiss him reassuringly, "of course he'll be there Gilbert, I've spoken to Austria and he says Germany's just as hopeless without you."

Prussia laughed, swinging her round; he loved it when she said his name. The pain he had been through in losing his brother and putting up with Russia became mere pinpricks when he was around her.

The wall through the middle of Berlin was already beginning to crack in places; the golden glow of the fire lighting the other side before their eyes.

And the first face Prussia saw.

"West!" He let go of Hungary's hand and tore through the crowd, bounding through the fire towards his brother who was waiting on the other side. The two brothers knocked each other to the ground with their hug, both crying softly against the other (not that either of them would admit it later).

This was the start of the new Europe. The European Union had been set up, and Russia was slowly being driven back; hopefully that meant they would all be democracies and free countries soon. They were the old warlike countries that had strutted around like they'd owned the world for years, wouldn't it be nice to finally be at peace, at least within your own continent.

**Now**

"France where are you going?" Belgium paused before following The Netherlands. The three had arrived on the Eurostar for the meeting in Britain. But the Frenchman was glancing over a map in the small shop near the exit.

"Airport" he shrugged, "I need to pick up America and Canada, they're both terrified of driving in Britain; just in case they get caught in a roundabout or something."

That was one of the benefits of the Eurostar joining Britain and France under the channel; it meant they could bring their cars with them on a nicer crossing than if they'd been on a boat.

England himself never used the boat any more after he'd been sick on a Catamaran boat when he'd crossed to France a few years ago.

"Well we'll see you there I suppose" she smiled, waving over her shoulder.

Although France had an apartment in London he enjoyed staying with the other nations in the hotels that England always booked for them all to stay in. Personally he was amazed the Brit had managed it this time what with the credit crunch.

Checking his watch he headed back to his car. Of course it was confusing at first driving on the wrong side of the road, but France had been here so many times he was used to it.

He needed to get to London first, and then he hoped the sign posts would get him to the right place quickly enough.

This was the first meeting that had been organised where all nations would be attending- and without their bosses. Of course nothing would be done without the agreement of their various leaders, but it was nice to be able to discuss things without them.

England had fought tooth and nail to be the country to host it; France was pretty sure the Brit had bribed the larger countries, and bullied the smaller ones to get this outcome in the final vote.

France shook his head lightly, he was sure England had his reasons.

Usually America would catch a cab in Britain when he had to come for a meeting, but things always seemed different when Canada was with him.

As France had predicted during the Cold war, when the American had returned to normal, he was completely horrified by what he'd done to the younger nation.

He'd become so protective of the Canadian that if anyone else so much as looked at him in what America saw as a threatening way he'd have them flat on the floor in moments.

France laughed, although it was quite sweet how America took care of Canada just like he'd done when they were children, but the last thing they wanted was one of the most important nations needing to be bailed out of prison because the taxi driver he'd hired had winked at Canada.

Hopefully the two North American nations would sleep in the car; the flight from Washington to London that they'd both caught was a long one. But somehow France knew they would both be bouncing off the walls of the taxi.

"France!" Canada shot from the check out booth to hug his former guardian, he still had that bear France had given him clutched tightly to his chest.

"Steady on" the Frenchman laughed, hugging him back; opening up his arms so America could join them.

The nations had seen a lot less of each other outside of meetings in the resent years. So to many of the other people walking past them it looked like a first meeting at the end of long toilsome years (which in a way it sort of was).

"Come on" France led them in the direction of the luggage collection, "we should get to the hotel in case England arrives early, you know what he's like."

Canada nodded fearfully dragging America with him so they could search for their cases as quickly as possible.

By the way they were rushing around France was sure America had forced a load of those energy drinks down his and Canada's throats before getting off the plane. That meant they'd continue to charge around for the next few hours before collapsing in a heap where they wouldn't wake up until late tommorow afternoon.

He wondered if any of the other were at the hotel yet, though it didn't seem too likely, most of the other nations had further to travel, and couldn't bring their own cars.

Meaning they had to face the terrible London taxi system, that pretty much involved throwing yourself in front of one and begging it stops to let you in; and it was a good idea if you were French, German, or a good deal of other nationalities to speak as little as possible. London had to be home to some of the most racist taxi drivers in the world.

~/~

"We're just here because the flights are cheaper" Romano muttered, shooting Spain a fierce look as if threatening him to say anything different. He knew the older Italian twin didn't like Spain to touch him while his younger brother was around.

"Italy do you want to go and get something from the shop to suck on when the plane goes down so your ears don't pop." Spain stared at Romano, it was unusual for him to send Italy off on his own in a busy place.

Italy nodded, giving Spain a small knowing smile. Romano really had to stop treating his brother like he was stupid; he was cleverer than he sometimes let on.

The moment Italy was gone from sight, the older Italian tugged the Spaniard in the direction of the bathroom.

He slammed the door behind them, forcing Spain against a wall; forcing his tongue down to the back of his throat.

They parted with a small trail of saliva. It always hurt that Romano wouldn't let them even hold hands in public, but the moments where they did touch always felt more special as a result.

Moaning gently Spain tried to unbutton Romano's shirt, but his hands were pulled away.

"What do you take me for bastard!" The Italian hissed, kissing his lover again, "we are not doing it in an airport bathroom, you can wait until we get to the hotel!"

"So cruel" Spain breathed, being sure to let the air tickle Romano's ear, "I can't wait that long Lovi~"

"Well you'll have to! Who knows what's been done in here!" He sniffed in a disgusted manner, "it stinks!"

Giving a small smirk Spain slipped from under Romano's arms, "well you'd better make it worth it when we get there."

He felt Romano's hand catch his arm, a playful look in his eyes, "don't worry I will."

They hurried back from the bathroom to where Italy had already finished the toffees he'd bought for the plane.

~/~

"Remind me again why we're all catching the same plane?" Germany felt a temple pumping just above his eye. Usually when they caught the plane from Munich it was just him and Prussia; but why were Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Austria, and Hungary now with them!

"Flight deal" Austria and Switzerland had both explained with a shrug of their shoulders when questioned.

Hungary had come over because Prussia had bought her ticket, and Liechtenstein was here with her brother.

Almost immediately there were problems. Austria wouldn't sit with Prussia, and Prussia wouldn't sit with anyone but Germany or Hungary, Switzerland wouldn't sit next to anyone but Liechtenstein; and incidentally wouldn't let anyone sit next to her unless it was Hungary.

It was times like this Germany wished Italy was here; he was so much better at cooling these things off. But he was catching a plane from Spain with his brother and the Spanish nation. They'd see each other later at the hotel.

"Missing someone are we?" Hungary and Liechtenstein gave each other a quick look of amusement as they passed Germany to their seats.

In the end Germany had sat himself next to Switzerland, in the row with Liechtenstein; and the other three were a few rows behind where hopefully they wouldn't bother anyone.

"Like hell I did!" Hungary kicked Prussia hard, knocking the Austrian in the process; dislodging his glasses and book.

"Of course you did, don't you remember!" Sometimes Germany couldn't tell if they were arguing or just talking loudly.

He was still trying to work out why Liechtenstein kept looking at him and giggling; Hungary was a bad example on her.

"Do any of you want to swap?" Austria pulled himself from his seat when they were level in the sky and allowed to take of their seatbelts.

"Yes!" Liechtenstein practically bounded up,

"No!" Switzerland pulled her back down again, "just leave them for a moment and they should fall asleep."

The Swiss was right. When Austria returned both Hungary and Prussia were fast asleep; Hungary's head resting lightly on Prussia's shoulder, while his own rested on her head. Finally he could finish his book in peace.

~/~

"Why are you all getting the plane from here?" Russia gave a short sigh, glancing at his sisters; he'd invited the Baltic nations but the other two had come of their own accord.

"Want to be with brother," Belarus let out a stubborn grunt, clinging to Russia's arm like a limpet.

Russia looked like he was about to speak again, but Lithuania's mobile had just gone off.

"Liet, what the hell are you doing! Why are you catching a ride with that bastard!" Lithuania rolled his eyes, giving the others an apologetic look, and mouthing his friend's name.

"He's paying for the flight" the Lithuanian tried to explain over Poland's angry cries,

"Well get your ass over here and I'll pay for your flight from _Poland_!"

To be perfectly honest Lithuania was kind of relieved, he'd rather catch the plane with Poland than Russia.

He managed to sneak off while Russia was looking around for his sisters who had suddenly dashed off to the bathroom, muttering something about changing.

Changing what?

"We're on our own now..." Latvia trembled nervously, hoping that Ukraine and Belarus would be enough to keep the taller nation's attention throughout the entire journey.

Ukraine was skipping back to them now; she had changed into a pair of short shorts, and a vest top (how warm did she think it was going to be in England!) Though after saying that, most places would seem warm after their countries.

"What are you doing?" Russia sounded surprised, he'd never seen his sister out of her formal clothes, or farming stuff.

"We're not going to Britain dressed like that" she smiled, twirling in her new outfit, "we got Estonia to hack into your account so we could buy new clothes."

"Really...?" Russia gave a dangerous side-glance at the two remaining Baltic states.

"What do you think?" Belarus gave Russia a firm thump round the head, forcing him to look at her.

She was dressed in a light blue skirt, and white low cut T-shirt, a slight blush running over her cheeks. It was amazing how normal she looked with out that dark looking dress.

"B-Belarus!" The older nation's mouth dropped open. He suddenly felt like he should have made some sort of effort; all the other nations always looked so neat at meetings, somehow his coat and scarf seemed a little scruffy now.


	70. Chapter 61

Cheap flights!

They'd all piled into China to catch a cheap flight!

Japan, Taiwan, Korea, and Hong Kong were all sound asleep around him, bundled onto a row of seats designed for three people.

He supposed it was nice to have them all around him again; but it was scary how much they'd all grown.

That was the downside to the meeting being in Britain; it was so far away!

Japan gave a small sniff beneath him, snuggling closer to the others with a small smile on his face. He had changed a lot since the war, possibly more than any other nation. He'd come out of isolation and started trying to make friends around the world.

Korea's leg was twitching slightly as he tried to kick Hong Kong away for more space; while Taiwan was practically pushing him into the corridor.

It felt good to have his family all snuggled up to him again; it had been thousands of years...

~/~

Greece gave a quick stretch, it had been quite a few hours on the plane and now all was left was to figure out a way of getting into the hotel.

"Flights from Ankara now arriving~" The PA called over the heads of the people in the check out booth.

The Greek let his head flop down onto his chest, why did that bastard's flight have to land pretty much at the same time as his? And the que was going _so _slowly; they might even bump into each other!

The flight from Cairo had also arrived a little while ago; and Greece was sure Egypt would be waiting for him and Turkey just beside luggage collection.

He supposed the Turk could make himself useful by helping to pay for a taxi. Last time they'd been in Britain both of them had crashed two separate cars into a few 'important' buildings. Turkey had also been arrested once for not wearing a seatbelt- not that Greece didn't do that, but he at least knew what to do when in another country.

"Piç," _Bastard _Turkey knocked on the glass wall dividing the two check out areas, his tone sounded friendly enough, but it was completely ignored.

Greece stuck his nose in the air and hoped the Turk would stop bothering him so publicly.

As he'd predicted Egypt was sitting on his scruffy looking suitcase by the luggage conveyor belt, staring at everyone who walked past.

"You can help pay for the taxi," Greece threw Turkey towards his own luggage belt, before strolling to his own. It was likely that even with the two of them, and whatever Egypt had that they still wouldn't be able to afford the overly priced London taxi, but they'd sort that out when they got to the hotel.

~/~

France found that he and the two North Americans were the first at the hotel, it seemed like even England and his brothers hadn't arrived yet. He wondered what was keeping them...

Belgium and The Netherlands were sitting on their cases in the front hall of the grand hotel staring up at the ceiling expectantly. They'd been told by the staff that they needed to wait for England before they knew what rooms they were in.

It seemed the Frenchman had been right to wonder how England could afford to stick them all in one of the best rooms. He'd organised the rooms, so that there was anything between four and six people to a room.

Outside he could hear the new arrivals arguing with a taxi driver about the price of their journey; he was sure someone else would pay it when they arrived.

Finally they were all assembled in the hotel lobby. Well everyone except England and his brothers who had failed to turn up. They couldn't have gotten lost in their own country, could they?

Suddenly the door of the hotel was thrown open. England stormed in, muttering under his breath.

"What kept you!" Prussia demanded, "I'm worn off my feet, and we can't go up to are rooms till you tell us where they are!"

Scowling, the Brit strolled up to them, "my brother's won't be coming, on account of an argument; so I shall be representing Great Britain on my own, and fill in Ireland later." He pulled a note from his pocket.

~/~

America scratched his head in puzzlement; why had England arranged it so that he, America, Canada and France were all in the same room, he'd thought it was well known knowledge (especially to themselves) that they didn't get on.

Even now France and England were arguing over who got the bed closest to the bathroom. Though amazingly France seemed to backing down without too much of a fight- was he just putting it on for appearances? Whether he was or not the Brit clearly wasn't.

"Get off you git!" England kicked France backwards to the next bed, seating himself comfortably in the one closest to the bathroom.

America had noticed the British nation had seemed on edge ever since arriving; and he doubted it was anything to do with the argument with his brothers.

He wasn't the only one to have sensed it. Japan had given him a funny glance when he entered the hotel; and France was hovering around him like some sort of guard.

"I'm exhausted..." Canada gave a sudden yawn, rubbing his eyes before falling back on his bed; leaving enough space for the American to curl up beside him.

"Don't say anything!" America hissed at the two European nations as he pulled off the Canadian's clothes, and began dressing him in his pyjamas, before changing himself and curling into bed beside the other nation.

France sighed shaking his head with amusement, "I knew they'd be tired out before the end of the day..." He gave England a quick smirk,

"What do you mean before the end of the day! It's coming up to ten at night!" He stared at the Frenchman in bewilderment, only flinching slightly when France pulled on his hand, leading him towards his suitcase.

"Don't you want to go out and see London at night?" The older nation began rummaging around in his case,

"Of course..." The Brit had always liked his capital at night, but you could never relax without being noticed...

"Here," France pulled a pair of sunglasses from his bag, handing them to England. He then straightened up and began trying to comb the Englishman's hair with his hands. Giving up when not a single hair would obey his command and lie flat. "Come on it's just like that time I had to sneak you from the palace in France, after one of our wars," he smiled, "all you need to do is hide those pretty eyes of yours, and no one will know."

England stared down at the glasses, "Won't I look like a twat walking around in sunglasses in the middle of the night?"

"It's just until everyone gets too drunk to care," France slapped him on the back, "come on, let's get out before anyone else notices, otherwise they'll want to come too."

Letting the Frenchman pull him away, England felt a sort of thrill; it was exciting. Would his people really not recognise him like this?

Where had he felt this feeling before?

"It's like that day we had our picture painted..." France stopped, as he felt the Brit tug at his hand. He was smiling; and even though he couldn't see them, France was sure his eyes were shining with the smile.

That was where he'd last felt this rush; after they'd snuck out to do something together, completely forbidden in their unwritten laws.

"Come on, I want to show you somewhere I came last time I was here," feeling a sudden shyness, France started running again, laughing when England gave a grunt of annoyance and took after him.

"When were you last here without my permission frog!" France hadn't exactly told him that he'd bought an apartment in the middle of London.

The Brit himself lived in Oxford; a quieter county, quite some distance from London. England was one of those few nations that didn't live in his capital; France had a suspicion that England had moved out shortly after the end of World War 2.

France had seen his new house a few times, but the Englishman never invited the others around. It flattered the Frenchman that England still seemed to trust him above the others, but then again if England's highest manner of trust was telling you where he lived, that wasn't so much of a step.

He stopped outside The Ratter, waiting for England to catch up with him.

"A-A nightclub?" There was a wavering sound in the British nation's voice, as he stared in awe at one of the most shining nightclubs in the country that was located in right round the corner. _A.N: Yes, I know it isn't a real nightclub_

"Nervous are you?" France smirked, pulling one of England's hands to his lips and kissing it, "how far the mighty have fallen..."

"Shut up! Shut up!" Sticking his nose up in the air England led the way into the loud club building, trying not to envision France's smirking face.

It wasn't until midnight that France decided everyone else was drunk enough for England to drop the sunglasses. They were sitting in one of the corners at a table against a wall watching the others dance, England was too nervous to go up there himself, though he enjoyed watching the other people dance, and relax in France's company.

"Please don't get drunk Angleterre" he begged, "I'm just going to go and sort something, don't stray too far," he gave the Brit only a half playful wink. What did France think he was! His property!

Realising he was too scared to go anywhere alone though, he crossed his arms, pulling on the most irritated look he could muster.

However, it didn't take long for people to take notice of him.

"Sitting on your own are you?" A man pushed in beside him, being sure to squeeze the already nervous nation further into a corner.

"M-My friend's coming back in a moment..." England shook his head quickly; had he just described France as a friend?

"Of course he is" the man laughed, resting one hand on England's knee, "what's your name then?"

But the Brit was too busy trying to stop himself trembling; this man was too close... He was too close!

"Aww~ You're one of those nervous ones aren't you?" England tried to twitch away when the man leant closer, his mouth practically brushing against the side of the Brit's face; his hands working their way towards the Englishman's shirt.

"Please don't..." Absolutely petrified, England felt like he could do nothing. It wasn't like France... He didn't know how to kick one of his own people away. But he managed to make his tone more frantic, "please stop!"

He was silence by the other man pressing their mouths together, forcing the Briton underneath him on the seats.

Deciding now was the time for action, England bit down on the man's hand, hard. With a cry of irritation the man hit him round the face. It didn't hurt as much as it would have done if it were a nation but it still made England's cheek sting.

He was letting down his defences, so desperate to prevent one thing.

"You seem tense..." The man pulled something from his pocket and stuck it in England's neck, "this should help you rel_ax,_" his last words sounded like a slur as the world began to spin around him. Although he was still fighting, he wasn't sure exactly where the man had gone; everything seemed out of proportion, then...

Out of nowhere there was an almighty smack. France had pulled the man off England and knocked him unconscious to the floor in one hit.

With a look of panic France pushed past the staring people, pulling the dizzy looking Brit to his feet. "Can you stand?"

"F-France...? Can you see the fairies?" England's moss green eyes looked out of focus, swimming around inside the socket like they couldn't decide where to settle.

"Fucking bastard!" The Frenchman kicked the unconscious man hard before leading England back out onto the street.

Hopefully whatever he'd been injected with wouldn't last too long. France wasn't quite sure how drugs worked with nations. If he was at the hotel he could ask The Netherlands, but as it was...

"Where did you disappear to?" It seemed the Brit's mind was clearing a little.

The Frenchman noticed with a sudden jolt that in his drugged state that sick pervert had managed to undo all the buttons on England's shirt.

Quickly before he completely came back to the clear world, France did them up again, only letting his eyes drift once to the black scar that still resided on his left side.

"I did book us a restaurant... But I can understand if you're not feeling up to it..." He studied the Englishman carefully.

"No, I'm fine..." England wobbled a little then managed to stand on his own; still looking shaken. "W-What did he do?" He was checking himself fearfully, feeling the place around his mouth where the human made bruises were beginning to fade.

Hesitating, France mentally shook his head; England didn't need to know he'd almost has his shirt pulled off.

"F-France, what did he do?" The Brit clutched at the front of France's shirt for support, panicked tears welling up in his eyes.

"Don't worry, he didn't do anything more than kiss you," hugging the smaller man close to his chest, France lowered his face to peck the Brit's mouth softly, "there..." he smiled gently, "...all gone."


	71. Chapter 62

"Why'd that stupid eyebrowed bastard put us in different rooms!" Romano thrusted hard into Spain, hoping for once that Germany had kept Italy beside him and not let him go exploring the other hotel rooms.

"We'd never be able to have sex in a room with others..." Spain gave a sharp cry as the Italian hit his prostate dead on. Giving a satisfied smirk, Romano thrusted harder into the same place, running his hands along the Spaniard's bare chest.

"I said I'd make it worth the wait" he grinned, bucking his hips quicker; causing Spain to let out moan after moan of pleasure.

He reached up painfully, but determinedly; catching the Southern Italian's lips against his own, crying softly as the two cummed against each other.

"You're perfect Lovino..." Spain pulled Romano down next to him on the bed, pulling the cover over them both; he was sure the others wouldn't care if they weren't in their rooms the next morning, after all they all knew about him and Romano anyway.

"I'm not perfect bastard," He kissed Spain's forehead, closing his eyelids with his fingers, "now get some sleep stupid, and you'd better not snore," he turned round with his back to the Spaniard.

For a moment there was silence, and Spain thought Romano really had fallen asleep, then he turned again, pressing their bodies together in a tight hug, "Ti amo Antonio."

If only the two of them had known that things were going to go so badly the next morning.

~/~

"Why isn't your brother back yet?"

When Spain guessed everyone knew about his and Romano's relationship, he hadn't been entirely right; Germany remained clueless as anything when it came to any form of love at all.

"Because he's fucking Spain!" Prussia rolled over in bed, pulling the pillow round his ears. He had been feeling a little ill since they arrived at the hotel, and had started taking out his frustration on his room mates, before falling into bed groaning.

"That's not a nice way to put it" Japan told him sternly, exchanging a look with Italy, as if to ask 'does Germany really not know?'

Italy shrugged and nodded, smiling brightly.

Japan had known for some time that Italy was in love with Germany, but it seemed impossible for even an expert like him to understand what the stoic German was thinking.

"By fucking do you mean a form of sexual intercourse, involving..." Germany opened his mouth to continue, but Japan closed it with a hurried: "Stop! Stop!"

Italy fell to the ground laughing, while Germany stared at him, the slightest trace of red appearing on his cheeks. "What?"

"You sound so dull when you describe sex" Italy smiled, wiping a tear from his eye.

Japan shook his head quickly, his face flushing, "why are we talking about this!"

But now Prussia had pricked his head up, looking interested in the conversation, "hey you guys, what's the best shag you've ever had?"

Again with the vile language! Japan wasn't sure whether to ignore it, or turn his back on the whole lot of them.

Germany shrugged, "I can't really remember anyone specific." He had forgotten that time he'd slept with Italy while half asleep, after the first Nuremberg trial.

"T-There was s-someone once, b-but..." Japan trailed off, why was he even joining in!

"Mine's got to have been Hungary that first night before she got married to that **Bastard(!) **next door," he banged hard on the wall, shouting part of his statement through.

"Leave Austria alone, and shut up!" Switzerland banged back, "or I'll come next door and shoot you all!"

"What about you Italy?" Germany turned to the Italian, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably, "though you've probably never..."

"The Holy Roman Empire..." Italy closed his eyes, trying not to remember how he'd felt in Roma's arms that last night they had seen one another.

"Y-you had sex with...?" Prussia sat up in bed staring opened mouthed at Italy, "h-how old were you two!"

Italy blushed, fiddling with the front of his pyjama T-shirt nervously, "...it was just before he... He came back to get something, I suppose he was about seventeen, and I was fifteen..."

"And you've only ever had sex once?" Prussia stared at him unbelievingly, though he refused to meet eye contact with his brother.

"No..." Italy murmured, "I've had sex once more since then..."

"Who was it?" Italy blushed a little when Germany asked, "...I can't tell you..." He smiled, pressing a finger to his lips. Germany didn't have to know. "But I think I loved him like I loved Roma..."

Now Prussia was on his feet, eyes wide. Had Italy said too much, it looked like Prussia had guessed what had happened. In fact it looked like he had a clearer idea about what had happened than Italy did.

Sensing everything was getting a bit tense, Japan made the suggestion that they all get to bed.

~/~

"Feel like sneaking into the girl's room?" Turkey let out a sudden suggestion, only to be hit by both The Netherlands and Switzerland, while Greece glared at him from across the room. Austria was sat back on his bed reading.

Turkey grumbled, they all knew what Spain had left for, so why couldn't they go and see if they could get some too.

"Are all the girl's in one room?" Netherlands glanced at Switzerland- who had walked Liechtenstein to her room, so would have a better idea.

"Not all of them, it seems the African girls were happy to sleep together in another room, otherwise there wouldn't be enough space."

Turkey was still looking hopefully at the door in case they changed their minds about sneaking out to spy on one of the girl's rooms.

Sighing Greece got up and sat next to him on the floor, cuffing him lightly round the head before sitting down. "You're such a pervert" he mumbled. It was only times like this that Greece would sit anywhere near Turkey- when he wasn't very sure of the others they were in a room with.

He felt the Turk's hands, reaching out to pull at his strange hair curl.

"Do you remember when we used to think that hair curls were what made a nation...?" Despite himself, Greece couldn't help smiling at Turkey's memory; he pulled the Turk's twin curl as well- possibly a little harder than Turkey had done to him.

"You taught me to read and write, and generally how to be a nation..." Turkey shook his head sadly, "and what did I do in return?" He sounded bitter as he spoke, a look of long regret in his eyes.

"You taught me how to enjoy myself..." The words were out of Greece's mouth before he could stop them, but there was no going back now. "Before I met you I was just cooped up in that big house on my own doing lessons; the times we spent together as children were the... best ….of …my life..." Greece turned away looking embarrassed.

Feeling awkward, Turkey gave Greece a light punch on the shoulder, "well, my life with that guy wasn't much better before you arrived..."

Faintly Greece could remember Turkey arriving at his caravan in a beaten state, or exclaiming he had to get home quickly for something. He wasn't the only one who'd had it tough.

"You know we're probably the oldest nations still left... Us and Egypt that is..." He blinked sadly, "we were found as children after the Siege of Troy..."

"Turkey..." It felt strange to speak even the other nation's country name; though he still hadn't been able to burn the human one from his memory.

"Hmm?" The Turk leaned back lazily, having lost interest in sneaking out.

"Do you think there was ever a time where people existed without nations?"

"..." Turkey paused, why did the Greek always need to ask such difficult questions?

~/~

Belarus folded her arms over her chest, glaring at the other girls. How could her sister be getting on with them! It seemed traitorous to her.

"So what about you?" They suddenly turned to her, assuming she'd been paying attention to their conversation.

"What?" She tried to sound as anti-social as possible, but found herself somehow curious in what they were talking about.

"Have you ever had sex?" Hungary voiced the question, shrugging her shoulders like it was the same as asking the weather.

The look of shock must have been evident on Belarus' face because Ukraine stood up immediately to defend her. "We haven't really had the chance to meet many other nations or people."

"Oh, right..." The other girls exchanged glances, "what was it like under Russia?"

Feeling her face burn, Belarus turned away from them. Ukraine raised her eyebrows, bursting into fits of giggles with the other girls.

A sudden knock on the door called their attention.

Without waiting, Russia pushed it open; staring round at the hysterical girls (all except Belarus). On his appearance they only began to laugh harder.

But with his arrival, Belarus flew into life; practically flying across the room and hooking herself firmly round him.

"Off!" Russia pushed her away, looking embarrassed; holding her at arms length so he could speak to the others. "Ukraine do you know why I can't get into the Baltic's room? I just wanted to ask if they had a spare towel..."

"Poland's barricaded them in" Liechtenstein explained, edging behind Hungary, looking nervously up at the Russian nation.

"Out!" Belgium sprang from a pouncing position on the floor into him, knocking the male nation from the room.

"Girls only!" Taiwan added happily.

The door opened again a few moments later. Belarus had come out to join him.

"Can we sleep in the same room?"

"No!" Russia shook his head, "go back to the other girls!" He knew she could see the irritation growing in his expression, but she was starting to irritate him now.

The girl opened her mouth again; but was cut off by a loud scream.

Again the door was thrown open, and Hungary shot out; her face panic stricken. She recognised that cry.

"What happened!" Pushing her way into the German, Italian, Japanese room; she fell to her knees at Prussia's side.

"He wasn't feeling well... Then he collapsed..." Italy shared a terrified look with Germany and Japan. "What's wrong?"

Prussia's limbs were convulsing; veins popping in his forehead, mouth drawn back in a violent cry of agony.

His bulging eyes were fixed on Germany. One hand trying to grab for his brother's leg.

Eyes fixed on Hungary's face, tears streaming fast and plentiful.

"Can we do anything to help?" Spain seated himself beside her; his shirt looked like it had been pulled on in a hurry, and he was walking with a slight limp; but there would be time to discuss that later.

Racking her brain; the Hungarian thought back to his previous fits. They'd mostly been during the later half of the second world war, and while the Berlin wall stood- when he was separated from Germany.

But this time the other German was right beside him, eyes darting over his brother's form a terrified look creeping into his eyes.

"Space!" She ordered, turning round to glare at the other nations who had crowded round the door, "unless you're in this room, or are me or Spain; get out!"

Sheepishly the other nations pulled back, leaving the room a little more empty.

"Where's France?" Spain looked over his shoulder, he'd of expected his other friend to be here too.

"Does he do this often?" Germany himself had never seen anything like this.

Emitting another wail, Prussia's gaze flicked to his brother's. His eyes were narrowed in a furious look of contempt. "Ich hasse dich!" _I hate you! _

He shook once more, then closed his eyes; falling finally into a peaceful sleep.

Everyone stared up at Germany. Never before had there been such meaning behind Prussia's curses. Germany felt his heart begin to pound, had he done something to upset his brother? What could the older nation possibly hate him for?

"Hate me...?" Faintly he could feel Italy placing a comforting hand on his chest, "Why does he hate me?"

"He's ill" Spain tried to laugh, "he'll be fine tomorrow..."

Out in the hall the clock struck two.

"Prussia!" France swan dived through the doorway, staring in horror at what he'd missed, "what happened to him!"

"He just collapsed..." Spain shook his head, glancing at the others to confirm it; "I think he's just a little ill or something..."

"I knew this was a bad idea!" The nations turned to see England standing in the doorway, staring at Prussia's limp form with frightened eyes.

"England?" Struggling between Prussia and England; France eventually got to his feet, rushing over to the smaller nation; grasping his shoulders to keep him steady.

"That's why my brothers didn't come!" The Brit spat through his tears, "t-that druid came to visit us yesterday; and told us that this meeting would mark the end of our reign! That we would t-tear each other apart!" He paused, swallowing large mouthfuls of air, "...the same way it happened before..."

Pulling the Englishman tightly to his chest, France kissed his cheek softly.

"Why would we do that?" Japan got up from his bed, looking deeply concerned by England's words, "what do you mean 'happened before'?"

Knowing that the Brit would stay silent, France answered.

"I was visited by a druid a long time ago, who told me that a nation had died in a way that would have no effect on its country, but that they'd been brought back to life again..."

Using the silence to make his departure; France led the Briton carefully from the room.

"We won't kill each other Angleterre..." The Frenchman tried to comfort, "we have no reason too..."

"They'll give us a reason," England's dark tone took France by surprise, "just you wait- it's already started..."


	72. Chapter 63

Prussia didn't even seem to remember what had happened to him the previous night; in fact he even laughed when Italy asked him about what he'd said to Germany, and told him not to be so stupid.

Even England seemed to have calmed down slightly; though he still seemed slightly jumpy, whenever someone spoke too loudly.

"France-kun..." Japan hesitated, before tapping the European nation's shoulder, "I was just wondering if England was okay?"

Japan had always thought of himself as a pretty good judge of character, but the British nation was always quite a complicated one.

"He's just a bit fidgety," France glanced quickly at the Brit, couldn't he at least try and act normal?

"Well I just thought... He insisted on organising the rooms; and I couldn't help but notice that he put himself in with you, Canada, and America..." The Japanese man shifted uncomfortably, "well, I just thought that he seems very on edge; if he's made sure that he's only around those he trusts..."

"Trusts!" The Frenchman interrupted with a splutter, "he doesn't _trust _anyone!"

A small smile itched at the corner of Japan's mouth, "whether he trusts you or not, he always seems less nervous around you three,"

"Well we did all live together once, when Canada and America were children; but we never got on particularly well..." France knew Japan didn't miss the short flush in his cheeks when he remembered the brief moments he and England had gotten on in that house.

The nations were seating themselves round the large table prepared for their debate.

America and Canada still looked half asleep; their eyes fluttering open and shut as they tried to pay attention to what Germany had just said. Why had England woken them up at seven in the morning? Couldn't he have let them miss the first half of the meeting and lie in?

France let his gaze drift to the Englishman sitting next to him. England was twiddling his thumbs, and glancing around awkwardly, like he expected something was going to suddenly appear.

"...And so" Germany continued, "I have prepared a short list of all the countries with their GDP increase over the last ten years..." He trailed off, placing his list on the table silently; staring hard at Italy, who like normal wasn't paying attention to him; but Italy and his brother were paying attention to something really hard.

The other nations followed the Italian's gazes towards the large set of double doors at the end of the room.

A cloaked figure stood there, the visible fingers were painted red; cracked through to the bone. Several nations in the room flinched.

England, France, Spain, and Prussia being amongst them. A strange unacknowledged shiver went down Germany's spine as well, though Italy was the only one to notice.

Remembering what he'd been told last time, Spain kept his mouth shut; he didn't feel like he could say anything even if he wanted to.

"Do you know who I am?" The figure drifted towards them, moving straight through the solid wooden table so she was in the centre of the room, with their full attention fixed on her cloaked eyes.

When no one replied, she continued speaking. "Over the years I have delivered gifts to various nations; be it pieces of information, or fulfilling a wish. She seemed to stare around at all of them in turn.

After a long silence, a clawed hand extended to point at Romano, "I will visit this place many times I think..." She whispered, "there is much I want to tell, but I shall start with you."

Spain felt his heart jump in alarm. Surely she wouldn't show him that? He felt himself push his chair backwards; shooting wordlessly to his feet- mouth wide open as if about to protest.

Everyone had turned to look at him, but Spain couldn't care less about that; he was shaking his head at Romano, panic gracing his features.

"Spain?" Prussia pulled at his sleeve nervously. Again the Spanish nation only shook his head desperately.

"What do you have to tell me?" Romano admittedly wasn't too interested, and didn't like to do anything that sent Spain into a frightened panic.

"You and your brother have dreams, am I right? The same dream?" Even though he couldn't see it, Romano could imagine a ruthless looking smirk spreading over the Druid's lips.

"W-What of it?" Romano's eyes flashed once more to Spain before focusing on the Druid.

"Do you want to know what happened?"

Romano flinched, and his brother beside him gave a small squeak.

"Don't I get to find out too?" He asked, unable to meet the Druid's invisible stare.

The Druid shook her head, "no Italy, I have something else to show you; but I'm sure your brother will fill you in on the details when we're done..."

She drifted back towards the doors, motioning for Romano to follow her.

Spain watched them go in silence, until the door was slammed behind them.

In one swift moment Spain drew back his head and screamed "FUCK!" Smashing the chair behind him. Rushing to the door, thick tears streaming down his cheeks.

"NO! SHIT! DON'T SHOW HIM!" He'd know! He'd know how Spain had abandoned him to that bastard of a father, allowed Italy to be taken away by the Roman Empire.

It wasn't fair!

"What's wrong?" Germany pulled the Spaniard to his feet, staring at his brother and France for help; then Spain bit him hard on the hand. The German gave a very undignified cry of alarm, dropping Spain back to the floor.

Prussia opened his mouth to make a jive about 'had Spain touched Romano inappropriately as a child?' But he could tell it was frightening the life out of Spain, something something like that (worryingly) wouldn't do.

"I-I told you" England whispered, so only France could hear him, "I told you!"

~/~

Romano did as instructed; closing his eyes and holding out one hand for the Druid to take. He had no idea why Spain had reacted so violently when the Druid wanted to speak to him. Romano was sure he was safe, so it couldn't be that...

A sudden lurch pulled him backwards, winding him like someone had just punched him hard in the chest. He opened his eyes.

_This time he started looking out over the dusty ground; a dark starless sky above his head. He could hear excited voices behind him, where he could feel a camp fire burning. But he was more interested in the boy who stood a little way off, staring out at the desert plains._

_A sudden scream disturbed both of them from their thoughts._

_He didn't catch a clear image as the boy ran through him in the direction of the camp. Then he realised what was happening. These were the short moments before he was born._

_Making his way over to the other three people; he recognised his father straight away. He smiled lightly at his mother; she was just as beautiful as she'd been in his dreams._

_He watched his younger self being thrusted into the boy's arms._

_He knew what happened when his brother was born, he didn't need to watch that. What he was here for was to hear what that boy whispered to him. Words he obviously hadn't understood as a baby._

"_Don't cry..." The voice was so soothing Romano felt his real heart beginning to stir; the boy was looking down on him with nothing less than love._

_His young self immediately quietened to a whimper._

"_You look like a tomato" the boy laughed, itching a disturbing thought into Romano's mind, but he pushed it aside for now._

"_Your name shall be Lovino, do you like that?" He brushed the hair from the baby's eyes. Then his eyes flicked in horror to what was happening to the woman before him._

_Finally bringing up the strength to leave the boy's side. Romano crouched by his mother, watching her fix her last loving look at the younger twin. "He shall be Feliciano..." She murmured, lying back her head._

_Then her eyes drifted to Romano, fixing on his amber gaze. Could she see him?_

"_I love you too..." Her voice was so weak she practically mouthed the words, then her form fell still._

_Knowing what was going to happen next, Romano turned his back, and stuck his fingers in his ears. Opening them again only to glance back to see if his grandfather was gone yet._

"_Going to take that one from me too!" Markus gave a loud hiss, trying to grab at the baby in the boy's arms, "you're all the same!"_

_The same? Romano moved closer. Was this boy a nation!_

_Begrudgingly the boy handed Romano over._

"_I'll see you again Lovino..." Those were the whispered words Romano heard before the boy turned to go. Giving Romano a sharp look at his face._

_Light olive skin, striking green eyes, and messy brown hair._

_Everything around him seemed to fade as he was pulled back to rea_lity.

It took him a moment to adjust. But then it all made sense.

The one who had given him up to Markus in the first place, that had given him the name his father hated so much, who hadn't refused Italy to the Roman Empire.

A swirl of anger swirled in Romano's chest, eyes darkening.

The Druid was still with him, and she followed him back into the meeting room.

"Bastardo assoluto!" _You absolute bastard! _Romano seized Spain by his shirt, punching him hard in the face. "How could you not tell me! How could you let me live through all that with my father!" Throwing Spain to the ground he kicked the Spaniard once, before turning to Italy. "I need to tell you what happened."

"All in good time..." The Druid stopped them, "but before I go I have one more message..." They felt her gaze on them again. "There is one amongst you who is hiding something so great I know of people who would kill for such information..." Pulling away the robes around her side; she revealed a long black scar.

"What sort of information!" Romano spat, pressing Spain back to the ground with the heel of his boot, when the other nation tried to sit up.

"...It is possible to kill a nation without doing any harm to their country... But only one nation knows how to do this, and they also harbour advice on how to come back from death..." A shocked silence followed her report. "This nation sits amongst one of you many, but they are marked for what they did to me..." They were her last words before drifting back into the air.

When she was gone Romano turned a scathing look on Spain, "I will find this nation and make him tell me how to kill you, and then I will come after you without mercy..." Grabbing Italy's hand, he led him from the room to explain what had just happened.

"Back from the dead...?" Russia sounded interested, "I suppose it's silly asking who it is?"

Silence.

"Thought so..."

America leapt to his feet, "you know what this means right!" His tone was excited, but nervous at the same time; all thought of sleep gone. "There is a nation amongst us that knows the perfect way to kill, that isn't safe..." He shivered, throwing a worried sideways glance at Canada. "If we find this nation it is to be exterminated by its own means."

The meeting was called to an instant end.

France watched England walk calmly from the room, after excusing himself. How could the British nation be taking this so calmly?

He caught up with the other nation just outside the hotel room. England fumbled with the keys; his hands shaking. There was a loud clatter as the keys fell to the floor.

Sensing what was going to happen, France dashed forwards to catch the English nation before he hit the floor.

The beautiful face was even paler than usual. Soft, frightened green eyes looking up at France with half closed lids.

Hoisting the smaller man against him, the Frenchman unlocked the door. Helping England to his bed, before sitting back on it next to the trembling nation.

"I-I just feel a little ill..." England stammered. Shaking even more when France reached out a hand to stroke his cheek.

Was this why England had organised the rooms like this? That prophecy he'd been told before the meeting started, had he guessed this would come out?

And of course he'd know that France, America, and Canada were the only ones that accepted his shyness about changing in front of others, or even being touched- as France had needed to get used to.

It almost made the Frenchman want to cry as well.

America. America, had ordered the death of this nation. Of course he didn't know who he'd just condemned, but it must have truly shaken the Brit.

"France..." England didn't even need to say what he wanted, France understood.

Slowly the Frenchman bent down to kiss England's lips softly, both hands resting either side of the smaller nation's face.

How he longed to tell the stubborn Brit what he knew, and how it didn't matter because he loved him; France held back. Satisfying himself with a soft whisper after the Englishman had fallen asleep. "I will never allow any one to hurt you again."


	73. Chapter 64

Spain crept slowly out of his room. He knew the other nations were staring at him when he wasn't looking, and it was beginning to unnerve him.

Romano wouldn't speak to him, or even see him for that matter. Italy had told the other nations after his brother had told him; now even he was acting strangely around Spain...

"Spain..." The Spaniard turned to see Italy standing in the doorway of his own room, his face a mixture of nervous emotions.

"Italy I'm..." But the younger Italian cut him off.

"My life was fine, nothing went wrong for me; I'm not the one who wants an apology," Italy pointed towards the staircase, giving a small nod before closing the bedroom door behind him.

That was one of the worst parts about living forever; you never knew when something you'd done hundreds or thousands of years ago would come up, and everyone would judge you by it.

This was the floor he and Romano had been on last night, he wondered whether the southern Italian was in the same room. Would he listen for an apology?

The distance down the hall suddenly seemed a lot longer than it had done last night. With every step Spain could feel his heart beating in his chest, pumping blood to every limb in his body.

Maybe all Romano wanted was an apology? Perhaps that was all he needed. Spain didn't think it was very likely, but it made him feel a little stronger.

Extending one hand he fumbled for the doorknob, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned it.

The room was empty.

At least he couldn't see anyone there. Hesitantly the Spaniard took a step further into the room. Perhaps Romano would come and find him...

Strong hands suddenly caught him round the throat, pushing him down on the bed; tightening their hold.

"R-Romano?" Spain coughed, trying to pull the hands away; his eyes were streaming so much that he couldn't be sure if it was the Italian. But then again, who else could it be.

"You knew! You bloody knew all this time!" The hands on his throat were slackened, but only so his attacker could punch him hard round the face. "You gave me to that fucked up bastard! Do you think that when my mother was dying she foresaw the boy old enough to be her father being fucked by her son!"

Spain winced, his vision was beginning to clear; and every one of Romano's words hit him like a point.

"You let Rome take my brother away! You didn't even shed a tear when my mother died! What are you!" When Spain didn't reply Romano hit him again, "you fucked up bastard!"

Too many painful memories were following Spain around. Marina, the woman who had taken him in; she'd died of a broken heart long before her time, hated by everyone in the settlement. Rome, he'd been like a father to him, then vanished for years, before returning to try and kill him. Then there was Italy and Romano's mother who he'd cared for from a baby, had he really not cried when she died?

"I-I'm sorry for what he made you do..." The moment Spain had spoken, he knew he'd made a mistake. Hands clamped round his throat again, nails digging into his skin.

"What do you mean by that!" Romano spat, a rush simpering through him when he saw the little beads of blood beginning to appear round the Spaniard's neck. "That Druid's shown you something already hasn't she?" The Italian's voice was low, a sadistic joy betrayed by his tone.

The Spanish nation only just had time to catch a glance of the flick knife being drawn before it cut across his wrists, splattering the bedsheets with blood.

"That's was what he made me do when I could first pick up a knife!" Romano sliced at him again, "that was for being back late from the market!" He continued to cut naming the meaning of every single one he'd been made to do as a child.

And Spain didn't hate him. That was the funny part. The ripped material from the bed cover that had been stuffed into his mouth meant he couldn't scream, but he wouldn't even if he could. He was getting what had been coming for him ever since he'd given the red faced baby up.

When Romano finally hurled the knife to the ground, Spain's arms were torn almost beyond recognition. The Italian's hands, and shirt were stained red; he would go back downstairs and everyone would know what he'd done.

Pulling the gag from Spain's mouth he fixed their eyes together.

"Te odio!" _I hate you! _Romano spoke the words in Spain's own language, before shifting himself off the bed, crossing the room, and slamming the door behind him.

A small amount of pride still remained in the nation's tattered body. He didn't want the others to come up and find him like this.

With a sideways glance at the window, he realised there was a fire escape ladder leading down into the alley bellow.

~/~

France hid the evening paper from England's sight as the younger nation seated himself next to the Frenchman on his bed. It seemed he didn't need to follow the Brit around any more; England was sticking to him like a limpet.

He knew England would find out soon enough any way. How the paparazzi had gotten to hear about what the Druid had said France didn't know; probably one of the nations talking where the staff could hear.

Was it safe that the people knew about this new way to kill a nation. Only because France knew it didn't necessarily have to be a nation that finished them off. From what he'd gathered, they just had to be mentally distraught, and already have serious wounds opened by another nation, and the people could pick it up from there.

"Oh God, France!" Prussia through open the bedroom door, his face even paler than usual, "we've got to get upstairs now!"

"It's all my fault!" France could hear Italy sobbing outside, and what sounded like Germany trying to comfort him, "I only wanted them to make up again..."

"You weren't to know..." As France moved closer to the doorway, he could see Italy sobbing into Germany's chest, while Prussia was hopping from foot to foot.

"Romano just came back to the room covered in blood!" Prussia tried to pull him again.

France threw a worried look back at England, and the other two who were getting to their feet. "You three stay here, me and Prussia will go and have a look."

He didn't want England to see this, and it was probably best America and Canada stayed back to take care of him in case England fainted again.

Had Spain really lost his temper this time! Though honestly France had always believed Romano to be the only one above Spain's violence.

"What happened?" The Frenchman shut the door behind him before speaking, "Is Romano okay?"

Italy began crying harder, trembling all over.

"Romano's fine..." Prussia pulled France away towards the staircase, "It's not his blood he's covered in..."

"What?" France's voice was breathless; he felt a dizzy spell begin to take him, "he... Spain...?" Prussia just nodded, pulling France faster up the staircase. "Is he okay!"

"I don't know, I came straight to you first; how was I to know you'd stall things by worrying over that English bastard!"

France knew Prussia was only worried, but the jibe at England made him give a small growl.

"Come on!" Prussia pulled at him again, and between them they threw open every door in the upstairs hall, trying to find the one that Spain and Romano had been in.

"Mon Dieu!" France's first instinct was to cover his nose. Even in war he hadn't seen this much blood from one person. He felt Prussia rush to his side; his reaction was a similar one.

But Spain wasn't in sight.

"Where's that bastard wondered off to!" The eastern German's voice was pitched with fear, as he rushed to the open sliding door that opened onto the fire escape.

Something clutched at France's heart. They needed to find Spain now, before someone else did.

~/~

Breathing hard, Spain closed his eyes; trying to keep his balance. He knew he'd lost a lot of blood, but he couldn't go back quite yet; even if he wanted to, the climb down had taken almost all the energy out of him.

Had the others found the room yet? He wondered what they'd think of it.

Straightening his back Spain wondered what he'd do now.

A hard pole was swung round the back of his head. The world finally went black, as his eyes rolled upwards into his head before closing.

"What do we do with it you idiot!" An adolescent exclaimed in panic, "I didn't think we were really going to do this!"

"Backing out are you, coward; just think what would happen if we actually cracked this; they'd probably pay us loads to keep quiet; I hear nations are so rich they don't know what to do with the cash!"

"But to kill it..."

"That's all it is, a country; besides that report on the news said that by killing them you didn't actually harm the country itself; any way it's not ours. Help me get it into the boot."

~/~

"Go and get your car, I'll go see if he's still down there," Prussia pulled himself out onto the fire escape, his footsteps echoing on the metal as he ran.

France hurried down the stairs, knowing that other nations would be wanting to join the search.

He collided with Romano on the way down.

The Italian nation glanced at him with strong indifference, "how is he?"

Not even processing what he was doing France seized Romano by his shirt, slamming him into the wall. "Why are you being such an idiot!" Didn't Romano understand!

"Come on, you've probably done something like that too!"

The closeness of what Romano had just said caused something to momentarily snap in France's head. He punched the Italian to the ground.

"The people know that fucking story that Druid told us, who's to say they won't try it out on the first injured nation they see walking around on the streets!" Not wanting to turn away from the wide eyed southern nation, France just prayed England hadn't just heard what he'd said.

"H-He's left?" Romano jumped back up to his feet, mind clear and sharp, a look of daunting horror in his amber eyes.

"Me and Prussia are going to find him..." France turned towards the next flight of stairs, a part of him knowing that Romano would follow.

"What's he doing here!" Prussia demanded, when he saw Romano on the back seat of the car, his arms crossed, and face pale.

France gave Prussia a warning look, he didn't want to have to explain he knew what Romano was going through at this moment.

They drove through the streets of London, half hoping they'd just see Spain wondering around.

France found it pretty distracting how the Italian in the back of the car kept jumping when he turned down a fork in the road, or round a bend.

"What's wrong!" Prussia voiced what France wanted to ask.

"I know where he is!" Romano looked as shocked as they did, but he clenched a hand over his heart and closed his eyes, "I know where he is!"

France spun quickly round London, probably way over the speed limit, thanking the heavens above that there wasn't any traffic; following Romano's strange directions, until...

"Stop!" France slammed on the breaks, outside a run down terraced house in the old part of the city. The whole neighbourhood looked like it was either abandoned, or full of vagrants.

Romano shot from the car into the house.

Prussia suddenly took after him, eyes wide. "France, the Schwachkopf's got a knife!" _Moron_ He shouted back in explanation.

The Italian was already ahead of them though.

~/~

Spain felt an hazy image of a room appear around him. It looked a little like a cellar. What was he doing here?

Feeling a stiffness in his neck he tried to stretch, then found he couldn't move.

Something rough was rubbing against his open cuts round his wrists. Rope?

"Hello." As his eyesight began to improve, he caught sight of a tall looking young man standing over him, something sharp in his hands.

"This one already looks pretty beaten up..." Another voice sounded hesitantly- he sounded further away, perhaps standing by the staircase.

"That's good, it means we can just work away at what a nation's already started." Spain saw the man try and thrust the weapon he was holding into Spain's chest, and felt a wash of relief when nothing happened. He'd be okay...

Then the man changed tactics, digging the blade into one of the open wounds that Romano had made.

Pain shot through him, as the blade worked its way up the wound along the length of his entire arm. What was happening!

People hurting a nation? It wasn't meant to be possible!

The weapon was splitting through the bone in his shoulder, heading for his neck. Could they kill him, were they about to kill him!

_AUTHORS NOTE: UNTIL I GET AT LEAST TWO REVIEWS FOR THIS CHAPTER I'M NOT UPDATING sorry to put it in big letters, but I just like to know how people are getting along with the fic..._


	74. Chapter 65

_Autor note: Just to let people know who are asking. I've already written the fanfic, that's why updates are so quick. I started writing it in October, so actually it's taken almost 6 months to write. I prefer doing it this way, to make sure I don't start a story and never finish it. All I need to do is proof read the chapters before posting them~_

A cry made the man freeze in his track. He stopped to look up at where his friend had been standing.

"Io vado a cazzo di ucciderti!" _I'm going to fucking kill you! _Spain felt a jolt, was he really hearing Romano's voice, or was it just a memory of what he'd said when delivering his knife along Spain's arms.

"Here, here, you can have it back!" The man protested quickly. It appeared his protest wasn't working, because he tried to stab at Romano with his blade. It was deflected easily, just like his first blow on Spain had been.

"Romano!" Prussia's voice. But he was too late, the men were either dead or dying. Romano standing over them for a split moment, before rushing to Spain's side and undoing the bonds.

"This is all my fault! I'm so sorry Antonio!" Spain felt Romano kiss his bloody mouth, "I'm such an idiot!"

"No..." Spain lifted his less injured arm up to stroke the Italian's tearful cheek, "you're perfect..."

~/~

"England!" The Brit looked up; France caught hold of his arm, tugging him in the direction of the upstairs hallway. "We're keeping him upstairs for now, but I need your help." France hadn't known who else to ask, but he was desperate.

"What do you want me to do!" England tried to tug his arm back, his voice sounded irritated, "I can't do anything, I'm not a doctor! I don't even like the freak!"

"Just take a look at him, and tell me if he'll live!" France stopped, spinning England to face him, "just tell me that." France didn't want to add that if anyone could tell it would be England.

For a moment the Brit just stared back at him, looking shocked. For a moment France thought he was going to refuse again, but then he brushed past into the room.

Romano was the only other nation in there apart from the two that had just entered. He stood by Spain's unconscious body, holding onto his hand like he could pull the Spaniard back with the simple touch.

France blocked the Englishman's way when the Brit automatically tried to retreat when he saw the lifeless looking nation.

Spain's face was completely drained of colour; and even though Romano had tried to clean him; his wrists and arms were covered in hideous long gashes all the way up to the visible bone on his shoulder.

"What's he doing here!" Romano moved to block his lover from sight, narrowing his eyes at England, then questioningly at France.

"He can tell us..." France edged England closer, so he could get a better look.

Romano still didn't look happy, but he stood back so the Briton could get closer.

Hesitantly England bent down beside the bed, feeling for a pulse before closing his eyes softly; as though feeling for the life. Then he opened them again.

"I-If I was an expert..." The Englishman got back to his feet, hurrying back to France, "then I'd say he'd be fine, just make sure Romano stays by him... It helps to have someone there..."

France nodded at Romano, taking England's arm and leading him back into the hall.

"Why did you make me do that!" Was the instant howl he got when the door had been closed,

"Why not?" France challenged, running his fingers over England's lips, "I just wanted a second opinion, and why not you at random? Why are you so different from America, or Italy?" France knew he was being nasty now, but he was so shaken by what had happened to Spain that he didn't care.

England paled, his right arm wrapping round his body to clutch at his side.

"I'm sure they'd both be pretty shocked too" The Brit tried to argue, failing to meet France's questioning stare.

In a flash France had him pinned against the wall, fixing their mouths together; knowing he was bruising the younger nation's mouth. He fixed one hand over the place between England's legs, feeling it begin to bulge.

"Turned on are you?" France sneered, thrusting their hips together. He was met with a petrified gaze.

England shuddered, scrambling to get away.

France released him, shoving him in the direction of the stairs. "Frigid git!" He hissed abusively.

Why was he being so horrid? France could feel his inner self begging for him to stop, this was the day before the D-day landings all over again.

When they got back to the room, England shot away under his covers crying softly.

"What's wrong with him?" America opened his mouth in shock, letting his gaze drift over to France, who seemed to tower above them from this distance, his eyes were narrowed at him and Canada.

Moving swiftly to block his northern neighbour and England from view, America met France's glare.

But France seemed to have lost interest in them, because he went to lay back on his own bed, covering his face with his hands.

~/~

It was another late night.

Italy was surprised that Japan had turned down the offer of sleeping with him and Germany. Usually when they were all together and something like this happened, they all slept together. But Japan had just smiled politely and declined the offer.

It felt strange to be lying so close against Germany's sleeping figure again without Japan there. They hadn't slept like this, just the two of them since the Second World War.

He smiled as Germany pulled him closer in his sleep; his whole body relaxing against Italy's. It was nice to know he was the only one who could make Germany comfortable like this.

He opened his eyes, staring through the darkness at the German's face. If Italy kissed him, would he wake up? Would he care?

Unconsciously Germany's hand moved from the hug to pull Italy's face towards his. Stricken by a sudden panic Italy only just had time to close his eyes as his lips met Germany's.

With a jolt Germany leapt awake.

Pretend to be asleep, Italy thought quickly to himself; letting his body relax, and breathing easy.

"Italy...?" Germany's voice sounded worriedly through the darkness. It took all of the Italian's strength to keep his eyes closed, when Germany's breath washed over him. He was checking if he was asleep.

Expecting Germany to go back to sleep, Italy was surprised when he didn't feel the springs of the bed fold.

Was Germany still looking down at him? Watching him sleep? Like Italy had done to him so many times, or did he know Italy was really awake?

"You know, I don't know why..." Germany whispered, Italy could feel his breath so close now, that he must be mere millimetres from his ear. "But... Ever since I first saw you the day you crossed over Bruder's border you reminded me of someone..." Germany's voice hesitated, "...I don't know who...But..."

"West are you still awake?" Why did Prussia have to cut him off!

Italy heard the springs squeak as Germany lay back down beside him, pulling Italy even closer to him.

"Ich Liebe..." Germany paused, then shook his head; what was he thinking...? He closed his eyes; and that beautiful little girl in the green dress filled his thoughts, her beaming face and warm hand.

"Germany?" The German's eyes flicked open, he'd woken up late, it was very rare that Italy woke up before him.

"What is it Italy?" Germany sat up slowly, then felt his entire face turn bright red. He'd had a wet dream, all over the bed and Italy's leg. "Oh Scheiße!" Germany covered his face in his hands, thankful that Japan and Prussia were still asleep, and that Romano was out of the room.

"What did Germany dream about?" Italy asked curiously, examining the white on his leg without shock.

"This... Girl..." Germany admitted, getting out of bed, so he could change before the others realised what he'd done.

"Oh..." It must be his imagination, Italy couldn't have sounded disappointed, why would he? "I'll go get cleaned up," Italy hopped out of bed, giving the German a small smile, before hurrying to the bathroom.

~/~

It was not surprising when neither Spain or Romano came down to today's meeting. The other nations weren't sure quite what else to expect, would the Druid come back a second day in a row.

After what the Druid's last message had brought, the others weren't quite sure whether they wanted to see the Druid back again.

"I don't see why we have to continue to hunt for this supposedly miracle nation any more, we know how they're killed" Japan spoke before America could open his mouth,

"Perhaps, but this nation didn't just almost die, it did die. We need to know how it came back!" America looked around at the others, "and if it needs to be killed again to tell us, that is how we will do it."

"You can't be serious!" Germany challenged, "you're talking about killing another nation like it's nothing!"

"Who knows what it is any more" America shrugged, "I bet you it's one of the smaller countries though..." The smaller nations shrunk away under America's stare.

"You..." Italy jumped. Everyone turned to stare him. The Druid had appeared out of no where, and rested one finger on the Italian's head, "shall I show you something?"

Italy shook his head quickly, edging away closer to Germany.

"Really?" The Druid sounded hurt, "I think you'll like this... Don't you want to know about what happened to the Holy Roman Empire?"

The European nations shifted uncomfortably, nobody mentioned the Holy Roman Empire, he was the old secret they'd tried to cover up.

But Italy's eyes had widened, relaxing again; moving away from Germany.

Both France and Prussia were looking frightened. Italy knew France had been the one to fight Roma when he'd disappeared, but Italy didn't know why Prussia should look so worried.

"Italy...?" Germany was staring at him, "Don't you remember what happened last time that Druid showed one of us something."

Italy shook his head, "I have to know."

_He was stood in the middle of a battle field, someone was lying in a crumpled heap at his feet; their body covered by a long black cloak._

_Breathing in, Italy pulled it away; he knew who it was... Even though France had never found a body._

_The Holy Roman Empire looked younger. As his land began to fall away so did his years. Is that what happened? Had he just grown younger till he wasn't there any more?_

_There was the sound of footsteps in the distance. Roma was a child again; was this where France had just missed him?_

_But this person had arrived in time. They bent down beside Roma and felt his pulse._

"_Still alive..." The snake like voice that could only belong to Prussia. Italy felt a sharp shudder, looking up into Germany's brother's blood red eyes. "I know you're there!" For a moment Italy thought he was talking to him, but then a cloaked figure appeared out of the mist._

"_Do you want us to save him, he won't remember anything, and he won't be able to keep his old land, what's left will all go to you..."_

"_I know!" Prussia snapped, his hand jerking, "just save him!"_

"_Very well..." The Druid nodded, placing her hand over Roma's heart, "you really want him to forget?"_

"_He'll remember eventually" Prussia growled defiantly._

"_He might" The cloaked woman agreed, "but it might kill him..."_

_Prussia and Italy both looked up in shock, "Kill him?" They asked together, even though only one of them could be heard._

"_Of course it might not..." The Druid laughed cruelly, "but even I can't tell you what the true answer is."_

"_And all this land becomes mine?" Prussia questioned._

_Italy felt a rush of anger, what was Prussia doing, was he really going to rule over Roma like that, over the land that he'd fought for!_

_The Druid nodded, before breathing over Roma's young form. _

_Italy watched as the boy stirred, before opening his eyes sleepily._

"_Who am I? And who are you?" He asked, allowing Prussia to pick him up in his arms,_

"_I'm Prussia, you're older brother, and your name is West."_

_West! Germany! Italy stared around for the Druid, he had to ask, this wasn't true, it couldn't be! _

"_Come on" Prussia began walking away._

_Italy could see flashes of the next few events: Prussia leading France away from the search, him taking over Roma's old duties, bringing up Germany through lies._

_Even without the motion sickness of being pulled back to the meeting room, Italy felt the world spinning. He knew what he was going to do when he go_t back.

Italy sprung across the table at Prussia, knocking him from his seat to the floor, his eyes burning with anger and hatred.

"Italy!" Germany ran forward, trying to pull the furious Italian off his brother, but Italy wouldn't even look at him.

"You selfish bastard!" Italy screamed, punching Prussia repeatedly, "you did all that just so you could get hold of his land!"

"No!" Prussia shielded himself with words, but didn't put his hands up to stop Italy's punches,

"Well what then!" Italy pulled him to his feet, pinning the taller boy against the wall, ignoring the other nation's protests. Most of them had never seen the friendly Italian nation like this before, and were too frightened to do anything.

The Eastern German wouldn't answer his question, turning stubbornly again, even when Italy kicked him in the shins, knocking him to the ground.

"You're scum!" Italy yelled, "you aren't a nation, you're a thief!"

With that he knocked away Germany's hand and stormed from the room.

"What did he show him?" Germany helped his brother up, blinking his blue eyes worriedly. What had his brother done to the Holy Roman Empire to make Italy react in such a way?

"I don't know" Prussia lied, pulling away from his brother; moving back to France, and placing a hand on his shoulder. "The blame is not yours my friend..." He murmured, before heading out of the meeting room after Italy.

Looking back to his seat France realised that England too had stuck off at some point during the meeting.

Taking everyone else's bewilderment as an excuse he snuck out of the room. He wanted to find England and apologise before any of the other nations came up to the rooms.


	75. Chapter 66

"England?" He pushed open the bedroom door, spying the Brit hidden under his covers,

"What is it you frog?" The voice trembled behind the anger, contracting with his tightening throat.

Moving slowly so as not to startle him, France sat down on the bed, pulling the covers away so he and England were looking at each other. "I'm sorry..." France made no move to touch England knowing it would only frighten him.

"I'm sorry too..." The Brit breathed slowly, wiping his tearful green eyes quickly, "I should have been more help..."

"I understand..." If England only knew how much he did know.

They shifted closer together.

"You have truly pretty eyes" France smiled, holding out his hand for England to settle his face in, "looking at them, you almost can believe there are fairies in the world..."

"There are fairies!" England grumbled, moving forward to sniff at France's hair.

"Don't get angry..." France mumbled, "but why won't you let me touch you...?" What did England think he was going to do? He'd never turn him in to the others... Like he'd said to England before, every nation has scars.

England flushed, "I-I'm scared..." He whispered, closing his eyes tightly. Was he remembering the French villagers that had raped him as a fifteen year old? It wasn't just the idea of France seeing the scars was it?

The Frenchman kissed England lightly, before lowering his mouth over the Brit's shirt and darting out his tongue to caress the erected nipples under the material. He felt England's moan before he heard it.

His body trembled when France nipped the tops, or pinched them with his fingers.

He felt the Brit steady himself; wrapping his arms round France's neck. The Frenchman stopped what he was doing, moving his mouth up to catch England's mouth gently in a deeper kiss. His own heart gave small ecstatic leaps as their tongues swirled together in their mouths, fighting for dominance.

Surely England couldn't just be doing this for convenience, and there was no way it was for the sex.

"Je t'aime," France couldn't hold it in any longer, he paused from the kiss briefly to voice what his heart had been screaming ever since he'd first realised it.

England blushed, tears in his eyes again when France pulled him back to be sure the Brit had heard what he'd said.

"Angleterre, Je t'aime,"

"I bet that's what you tell all of them..." England spoke bitterly with a light trace of jealousy, "it's like what you told Joan..."

France fought back the emotions that the Englishman had just stirred. It didn't matter any more. All that mattered was right here and now. "England, I love you so much; please..." He was begging now; he needed the Brit to return the feelings, he didn't know what he'd do if the Brit laughed his words back in his face.

"I-I love you too," England swallowed, letting France push him down on the bed for another kiss, even more passionate than before; the saliva in their mouths still attaching them when France eventually pulled back.

He knew that England's proclamation of love didn't mean it was a licence to have sex with him, like it was with most people. But maybe, maybe one day...

~/~

"Italy!" Prussia caught the Italian by the arm, forcing him to face him, "you can't tell him, you know why right?" Italy thought he saw a regretful look pass over Prussia's face- but he must have been mistaken. "It's why I kept getting between you two, I don't want him to remember through what he lost most..."

"He lost his empire!" Italy snapped, "you took it from him!"

Again Prussia looked like he was holding something back. "Italy, when you appeared Roma didn't care about the Empire any more, at least not like he'd done before you..."

Prussia's words only made the pain in the Italian's heart grow stronger. Germany was Holy Roma! It was almost too much to comprehend. Now Prussia was telling him he couldn't even love Germany as a separate person!

"You love him don't you?" The Eastern German placed a firm hand on Italy's shoulder,

"Yes!" Italy spat, trembling with tears and rage,

"Then you won't encourage him, I want him safe as well..."

"You're a thieving bastard!" The Italian screamed, pulling out of Prussia's grip, turning to run back to his room, hoping the German wouldn't follow him.

Sighing Prussia turned around, only to come face to face with Germany.

"B-Bruder?" Prussia forced a nervous laugh, unsure of how much his brother had heard.

"Why is Italy upset?" Germany tried to look round Prussia in the direction of their room, "you didn't do anything to him did you?" The older German heard a soft edge in his younger brother's voice.

"No" Prussia shook his head, "It was someone else..." He didn't want to have to go into further details.

"The Holy Roman Empire?" Why was Germany persisting!

"Y-Yes..." Biting his lip, Prussia fought against having to answer. Sometimes Germany came so close to finding out the truth that Prussia's black heart missed a beat.

Standing aside, Prussia let his brother down the hall into the room.

Italy had his back to them, and did not turn when they entered.

"Are you okay?" Germany moved forwards to sit next to Italy on his bed, he didn't like to see his friend like this, it always unsettled him to see Italy angry or upset.

"I'm fine." Italy's voice was so distant it stung; he was treating him like a complete stranger.

Turning Germany caught sight of his brother watching them carefully. Narrowing his eyes, Germany tried to send the hint that he wanted to be alone with the Italian.

Prussia got the message all right, he just chose to ignore it.

"Bruder I think you're scaring Italy, can't you go away for a bit" he tried to verbally remove his brother from the scene.

"He just said he was fine" The Prussian reminded him, folding his arms and remaining exactly where he was.

Pushing away the angry tremble inside his chest, Germany forced his attention back to Italy.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?"

Why wouldn't Italy snap back to normal? What had that Druid shown him? Had he done something wrong? That couldn't be it, things he'd done in the past had been terrible, but not unknown.

Something to do with the Holy Roman Empire? But what did that have to do with him?

Feeling a sudden strange urge, Germany cupped Italy's cheek in his hand; staring hard into the soft brown eyes.

"Italy, please..." He tried to convey what he felt in that stare. But the Italian slapped his hand away, got up and moved away from him.

"Sie absolut unehelich!" _You absolute Bastard! _Germany spun on his heel, glaring at his brother, he stormed past, slamming the door behind him.

He wanted to cry his eyes out like a child. Why had Italy done such a thing? It was so unlike him!

He punched the wall hard, creating a reasonable dent in the paintwork.

"Italy..." He could see that girl in the corner of his eyes; but it wasn't a girl was it... He rubbed his eyes, why was he seeing Italy in a dress? "Even he can't of dressed like a girl..."

"Who?" Germany turned to see Hungary coming up the stairs, she must have come to talk to Prussia about what had happened.

Germany laughed awkwardly, "Um... Italy didn't dress like a girl when he was a child did he?" He knew how weird the question must sound now he'd spoken it, but Hungary was nodding her head, a distant looking smile on her face.

"He did, poor Roma used to think he was a girl... Until... you know..." She gave a giggle, "why'd you ask?" She studied Germany's strained expression, "did Italy tell you that?" She sounded uncertain, her eyes travelling to Germany's ruffled hair.

"He must have done" Germany shook his head quickly, "that's why I'm remembering something so stupid."

Shifting uncertaintly, Hungary moved closer to him, "Germany when were you born?"

Taken aback by the question Germany thought hard, "...I suppose just after the thirty year war, something like that..." A hazy image in his mind.

"_Who am I? Who are you?" _

"_I'm Prussia you're older brother, and your name is West" _

His memories seemed to be getting muddled again.

"Just after the thirty year war..." She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to him. Then she smiled, "Sorry, I just wanted to ask someone if they know where Austria keeps the key to his piano?"

"In that gap behind the bookshelf" Germany told her slowly, it was a funny question to ask. But the girl seemed satisfied,

"Thank you," she moved past him into the room he'd just left.

Shaking his head in a baffled way, Germany began strolling back towards the staircase, hopefully everything would sort itself out.

~/~

"Hungary?" Prussia looked up when the girl entered, he looked exhausted. Italy was in the shower, letting out angry curses every now and then- sounding more like his brother than ever.

"Did you know Germany knows where Austria keeps his piano key?" She sat beside him, fixing him with a hard glance.

"So?" Prussia really didn't have time for things like this. He'd had to lie to both Italy and Germany practically in the same breath.

"Only two people apart from Austria have ever known where that key was kept; myself and..." She suddenly found herself beneath Prussia on the bed; his eyes were wide and furious.

"You spoke to him about Roma!" His hands looked like they were being held back with all his strength to stop the white haired nation from strangling his girlfriend.

"Why shouldn't I!" She snapped back, "I'm right aren't I, that's what Italy found out! That Germany is the Holy Roman Empire!"

She held back a yell when Prussia hit her round the face. "No! No you're not!"

But Hungary knew she was right. "What did you do?" She gave a small gasp, "he's not the nation that died is he?"

"Of course not!" Prussia snapped with impatience, "I just struck a deal to stop him dying; that's my job, to protect him whatever the cost; it's what I was made to do!"

Again with the topic that Hungary never really understood, and that Prussia would never explain.

"But... They told me that if he remembered it could kill him, now do you understand me? I need to keep Italy away from him..." But this didn't make sense to the female nation.

"Gilbert..." She touched his face gently, kissing him, "love makes us, only a broken heart will destroy us... And that's what you could be leading your brother too..."

But this explanation seemed beyond the Eastern German. He just shook his head, "he can never know!"

~/~

The Scandinavian countries sat around in their room. They didn't know quite what to make of all this. It was strange all right. They'd never felt quite so separate from everyone else before.

"Do you think people will come after all of us?" Finland murmured, clinging a little tighter to Sweden's arm.

"I d'n't th'nk so," Sweden kissed the top of his head lovingly, "I 'eard th't fr'nce s'nt out a m'ss'ge s'y'n the rumours w're untr'e."

Denmark opened his mouth, then shut it again; the other's had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't welcome. Only Finland had given him a half smile when they realised they'd all be sharing.

It hurt that the others wouldn't talk to him, unless it was to insult him; but he didn't want them to know he was effected by that.

"I think they should do room service here!" He announced good-naturedly, receiving the completely expected glare. But he kept smiling. "I wonder who that Druid's going to talk to next?" He continued, "what dark secrets have we all committed?"

They fixed him with a glare.

"Maybe they'll see how you treated us" Iceland muttered, "that would be enough to make anyone's blood turn cold."

Again he felt a stab of angst.

Turning his head away, Denmark shrugged, "you're all boring!"


	76. Chapter 67

Italy glanced hesitantly at Germany's bed. It was situations like this when he was worried about something that he usually slept with Germany; but he knew Prussia was watching him carefully.

The younger German caught Italy staring, he gave him a small smile. But Italy had already turned with a pained look on his face back to his own bed.

"Italy?" Japan glanced between the two. By reading the atmosphere he could tell that the two seemed pretty distressed about something, but it didn't look like they'd been arguing... He then turned to Prussia.

A small shiver went down the Japanese man's spine. Every emotion burning off Prussia was warning Italy to back off. Did this all have something to do with Germany's brother?

Then he smiled to himself, he was pretty sure that even if he worried Italy, then Germany would ignore him.

Indeed Germany was looking irritated, his gaze turning on his brother. Then with a defiant growl, he stormed over to Italy's bed and crawled in beside him.

"G-Germany?" A small smile was itching at the corners of the Italian's mouth, but he looked worried too, and not all of the worry seemed to be concerning Prussia's furious stare.

"Ignore him" Germany muttered, rubbing his nose lightly against Italy's.

Sighing to himself Japan crawled into his own bed. Surely those Druids wouldn't be able to break the powerful bond between Italy and Germany. But it still didn't stop him worrying over the prophecy that England had told them about; and he seemed more frightened than any of the other nations there.

Ever since arriving Japan had been watching the other nation's moods carefully. Certainly the levels of worry in some of the nations had increased by such a large amount that it was almost overpowering for the Asian nation.

The most worried of all the nations seemed to be; France, England, Prussia, Denmark, Turkey; and interestingly enough, Russia.

Nations that had all previously had large powerful empires. Spain had definitely been amongst them too before the Druid had shown Romano that vision, and Japan hadn't been able to see him since.

Italy too seemed to have joined the panic after seeing whatever it was he'd been shown. Would this prophecy thing actually come true?

He shook his head hastily. Were the others as worried about this as him?

"Why are you avoiding me?" Germany didn't speak until he was sure even his brother was asleep. Italy's treatment since the meeting had hurt him more than he'd care to admit.

The Italian stayed silent, though Germany knew he was still awake. Italy was never this tense when sleeping; in fact Italy was never tense.

"What did that Druid show you? Something to do with the Holy Roman Empire?" He felt Italy flinch in his arms, a brief fearful look spreading over his face. "Please talk to me Italy..." Germany shifted closer to the smaller man. Usually it was Italy who initiated touches like this, he felt awkward to be the one doing it.

"Germany..." Italy's voice was soft and pained. Closing his eyes, Germany let the feeling of Italy's hand on his hair wash all over him. The Italian loved to mess his hair up for some reason.

He wondered if a picture had ever been painted of the Holy Roman Empire, but he knew it was unlikely; nations couldn't even appear on television.

It was an unwritten law amongst them. He supposed it had something to do with what England had been told. If they ever were to disappear, then the people would eventually forget them.

Did he want things to end like this with Italy?

Looking shocked at his own thoughts, Germany dismissed the idea; of course they weren't about to die.

Italy's hands were moving from his hair to his face. His touch was a lot lighter than usual, Germany had never felt so much emotion through Italy's fingers before. Did he want to kiss the Italian? He wasn't too sure.

Blushing he closed his eyes. Perhaps he would, but he needed some time to think about it.

~/~

As they sat round the table, the nations found that they were waiting for the Druid to arrive. A slight morbid curiosity leading their senses. Some were running over how they would refuse in their heads in case they were chosen this time.

"Calm down..." Hungary put her hand on top of Prussia's. She knew what the Druid had said had frightened him, but surely that was it; the Druid couldn't have more to show them about him.

She looked across the table at Germany who was shifting uneasily through his documents. The Holy Roman Empire... She almost couldn't believe it, but they had always looked scarily similar. A small smile crept over her mouth as she saw the German glancing at Italy out of the corner of his eye- just like Roma had used to do.

"Waiting for me?" The voice sounded almost childish, as the Druid drifted towards them, "beginning to embrace me are you?" She paused, "...Or fear me?"

A few of the nations trembled in their seats.

"This is an interesting one, you see I feel I should make up for yesterday..." A cruel laugh followed this statement, "so I will show all of you this memory," she turned first to Italy, then Hungary, "you two are going to love this one."

Then her eyes turned to Prussia, who had backed away quickly; holding his hands out in a defensive position.

_Hungary felt the room begin to spin, the table seemed to be delving towards Prussia's face. _

_Red eyes turned light blue- like Germany's, his white hair faded to soft blond, before he disappeared all together. Though it was obvious someone was still there, just out of the corner of their vision._

_They were in a large house by the look of things. Hundreds of Druids were all around the dark entrance hall._

"_Do it!" Roma's voice?_

_Hungary felt herself and the other nation's move forwards curiously._

"_I'm not sure about this" The boy seemed a little more visible. With an intake of horror Hungary realised the boy looked a little like Prussia; but his face was softer, eyes sky blue, and hair a healthy blond colour._

"_A war burning nation with a heart as invisible as you stand now." The voice placed a hand on Prussia's shoulder, "he shall be a perfect weapon, only able to listen to your orders, everything he do shall be to protect you."_

_That was when Hungary understood it all. This was why Prussia was like this! _

_She remembered those frightened nights, when the Prussian had broken down into fits or tears. Not a real nation, that had been what he'd said._

_Anger flared from Hungary's toes to her head. How dare he. How could he!_

"_I'll leave you to it," Roma turned away from his terrified brother as easily as that._

_She watched as the Druids pushed the boy down on the table, tracing their fingers over him._

_And then the screams began. Blood, veins, and bone. They seemed to grow from nowhere, pulling their way up and along the template of a young child. Then the voice died away, but only because it no longer had a voice box to use._

_Eyes burned red. White hair like wires._

_Everything became still. The work was done, and the Druids gone._

_Holy Roma returned. "You are Prussia. You will kill for me."_

_They were being pulled backwards now, away from the memory. Away from the sadistic smile that was beginning to spread along the new pale jawline, no longer the frightened boy that lay underneath._

_As they pulled back Hungary caught sight of other memories._

_Nations screamed, crying for help. Endless battles, people be cut down._

_And there was her, like a light amongst the darkness. Their games as children, bullying Austria, that day she'd come out with that ridiculous idea of growing a penis. When she'd left him for Austria. Finally she could feel the hurt that had been in his heart that day; because he did have a heart, the Druids hadn't been able to completely paint over the template._

Opening her mouth Hungary stared hard at Germany. No longer with the fondness she'd held before. Of course he no longer knew that the boy he'd just witnessed was himself, but he was still the same person.

Italy was looking horrified. But they were the only two looking at Germany. Everyone else's eyes lay on Prussia.

Realising she couldn't let Germany matter at the moment, she turned to Prussia; taking his hand gently, and manoeuvring him out of the room.

"I never knew..." Germany watched them go, eyes wide, "h-how could anyone do that to him?"

He turned to see Italy's reaction. But the Italian was gone.

"Prussia I'm sorry," Italy stopped, panting in front of Hungary and Prussia, "I didn't know, I understand why you had to do it now, you had no choice..." Hungary shivered lightly, she didn't like the look that was appearing on Italy's face. "It's him that's to blame!"

Despite the worried warning in the back of her head, Hungary couldn't help but agree. To have forced something like that on Prussia who could not even voice what he thought about it was barbaric!

"Italy please don't bother him about it..." Prussia's voice sounded weak, as if it had exhausted him having so many people trampling around in such a private and hidden memory.

"No!" Italy suddenly shouted, licking his lips, "you've opened my eyes to what everyone else saw in him, what I failed to recognise!"

Turning away angrily, Italy stormed back down the stairs into the lounge room, where most of the nations went after the catastrophic meetings.

"Italy have you seen England?" France almost crashed into him on the way into the lounge. He looked nervous. The information about Prussia must have shaken him, and Italy knew how protective France could get around England especially if he thought there was some sort of danger.

"Sorry no" Italy shook his head, letting France past him into the hall. He only had eyes for Germany.

Everything in the room seemed to stop when he narrowed his eyes. A few had seen him fly into a temper before when Roma was brought up, and everyone but Spain and Romano had seen him attack Prussia; but it was nothing to the look he was now wearing.

Italy's eyes were thin and cold, brown hair looking more rugged and framed round his face. His higher lip was curled back in a viscous snarl. He held himself with his back up straight.

Turkey and Greece were exchanging terrified looks- Greece especially, who had taken a few steps back.

The young Italian looked like his grandfather at the height of his empire, or the days after Greece's grandmother had died.

There were very few nations still alive that could remember these days when Rome was about. Spain and France amongst them, so it was almost a relief that they were no longer in the room.

No one dared say anything.

"Italy?" Germany and Japan were the first ones to step forward. Though Japan was immediately pulled back by Korea and Taiwan.

Now both the Italian and German were looking at each other; one in fury, the other in confusion.

But whatever question the German raised, it was met with hateful silence.

~/~

"There you are," France breathed a sigh of relief as he stumbled into the hotel's library (trust England to book a hotel with a library).

The Brit was sat back on one of the chairs studying an old looking book. He looked up when France entered, quickly trying to hide what it was he'd been reading.

But the Frenchman was too quick for him. He seized the book from England's hands, studying the page that was lying open.

"Don't..." The Brit begged, but by his tone France knew England didn't expect him to do what he was requested.

"A civilisation in 10,000 BC?" France skim read the page, "why are you looking up stuff like this?"

Looking flustered, the Englishman snatched the book back, "it's just a theory!" He protested, "no one knows for certain... I was just wondering if they had nations then..."

France realised where this was going.

"Angleterre..." He crouched down in front of the other man, so they were level. He leant forward to kiss the Briton, pulling him slowly from the chair. "How about we find something nicer to read eh?" He turned around, pulling England towards another shelf. "You like fantasy right?" He pulled a book out at random from the shelf, "how about this one?"

He caught the Englishman's gaze, then felt a warm sensation running through him. He loved it when England smiled like that; it made his whole face light up.

"Je t'aime," France pulled the smaller nation back towards him, kissing him fondly. He grinned when the Brit deepened it; wrapping his hands in France's hair.

"What do you think our countries would think if they heard of this?" England pulled back for a moment, a cheeky glint in his eyes.

"Who cares," The Frenchman pulled him back quickly, kissing the other European nation with as much experience as he could muster.


	77. Chapter 68

This was even worse Germany decided.

Italy and Hungary narrowed their eyes at him whenever he passed by. He doubted Italy would even sit next to him in the meeting tommorow. But what did he have to do with the Holy Roman Empire! The guy had died before he'd even been around!

Taking in a deep breath, he controlled his own anger, letting out a small sigh. Perhaps he should just ask; after all, if he didn't know what he'd done then he couldn't fix it without asking.

"Italy?" He approached the Italian slowly. The southern nation spun on his heel to face Germany, clicking his tongue impatiently, fingers twitching like he was trying to stop himself strangling the German where he stood.

Never before had one of Italy's tempers lasted this long.

Opening his mouth, Italy hesitated; then smiled, eyes full of wicked excitement. "I wonder if Prussia's theory is right..." He pondered, "...Would it really destroy you?"

Feeling a cold shiver, Germany took a step back. He actually took a step away from Italy!

Destroy him? Italy wanted to destroy him!

"I just wondered what it was I'd done to make you and Hungary like this..." He tried to sense some form of friendliness from Italy's eyes, but found none.

"That's what I'm thinking of telling you..." Thinking hard, the Italian shook his head, "I think I'll enjoy watching you suffer first..."

With that Italy winked, before turning from the room. Leaving Germany in complete shock.

~/~

"You know I think we've almost forgotten!" America jumped to his feet suddenly, taking his other room mates by surprise. "That resurrected nation, or whatever!" He snapped, rolling his eyes when the others only gave him blank looks.

"You're still looking?" Canada looked uninterested,

"Of course!" America glanced at England and France, "that Druid said that he was marked after what he did to her... Maybe we should just get everyone to undress and we could see..." He shook his head quickly, "no, maybe not..."

Falling back onto his bed, America let his mind sink into thought. How could he trap this nation...

"How about we all go sightseeing" France suggested, losing interest in watching the American think, "just us four, like a family again."

"We're not a family frog" England grumbled, though he looked relieved at the change of conversation.

"Yeah!" America bounded out of bed again, "come on! Matty have you got the camera? I want to see Big Ben!"

France felt safe enough outside with the others in daylight. He had managed to get a story to the press disproving what they'd somehow heard, so hopefully the people wouldn't hunt any more.

"Is this seriously your longest river?" America sounded disbelieving as he glanced over the bridge, at the Themes below.

"The Seven in between me and Wales is longer, but Wales claims that river..." The Brit looked worriedly at the American so close to the edge. "Don't fall in..." He gave a feeble warning, moving a little closer to the other three who were leaning over the bridge at the river below.

It had always amused France how the previously pirate nation couldn't actually swim, and as far as France knew he'd never learned.

"Fancy a dip Iggy!" America patted England's back, knocking him dangerously close to the edge. Managing to regain balance England flew back away from the edge, leaving America smirking with amusement.

Dipping round, America spun so he was standing in front of the Brit.

Canada and France moved towards them worriedly. America seemed to be in one of his hyper excitable moods.

"Come on, get your shirt off and go for a swim," the American laughed heartily, advancing on the older nation.

Giving a small start the Brit began making a hasty retreat, staring with wide eyes at America's hands.

Shaking his head, the English nation continued to retreat, until his back was almost against the bridge.

"Got you now!" America pounced, at the same time that the Brit took another step back, stumbled on a lose paving slab and fell backwards over the bridge.

"Mon Dieu!" France felt himself kick into action immediately, jerking his jacket off and throwing it into Canada's arms. He lent over the bridge, scanning the water desperately.

"What's wrong?" America sounded panicked now, flying to France and Canada's side, his eyes flicking over the top of the water.

They didn't even notice the Frenchman taking a few steps backwards before propelling himself forward in a dive into the Themes.

"England!" Taking a deep gasp of air, France resurfaced, looking around desperately; surely the Brit could at least get himself to float with a doggy paddle?

Diving below the water again, he felt the current pulling at him from all directions. Was it possible England had already been swept away? Feeling a cold hand over his heart, France searched even more frantically.

Even though a nation couldn't really drown, if they got too much water in their lungs they wouldn't have the strength to get back to the top.

He could be lost forever... Shaking his head violently, the French nation swam deeper, ignoring the pressing on his own lungs.

Then he caught sight of him. The Brit was struggling against the current a little below him.

Kicking as hard as he good, France felt the Briton's relief as he caught his arms around him and pulled him back to the surface.

The two gasped in thick lungfuls of air; both soaked to the skin and freezing cold. Using up what felt like the last of his strength France managed to get them both to the edge of the water, to the narrow bank where America and Canada were waiting.

They took hold of France and England, pulling them out of the water.

"I'm sorry!" America was sobbing, "I didn't know he couldn't swim, oh God I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine you idiot..." The Brit managed to hold out a freezing hand to push weakly at the American's head.

"We need to get you guys back to the hotel..." Canada glanced warily just up the stairs back to the street where the car lay waiting, "I suppose me or Alfred has to drive..."

Closing his eyes tightly Canada regretted not insisting he should drive. He was pretty sure America had crashed France's car at least five times into various things on the path, or other lane on the road. But they were close to the hotel now.

The moment they were through the door to their room, America and Canada found France slamming the door behind him, not letting them in. Was he angry with them?

"What happened to those two?" Prussia was coming down the upper staircase- he'd just come from visiting Spain and Romano.

"England fell in the Themes..." Canada explained, giving a sideways look at America who was looking guilty again, "he can't swim... So France had to dive in after him..."

Prussia gave a small smirk, "can't resist showing off," he shook his head, "why are you two standing out here? France told me England was frigid beyond belief they're not doing anything in there."

America and Canada shrugged, "England's always been really shy, I suppose if he can't undress himself, then France is the safest..."

Prussia studied America's words carefully, "how long has he been like that?"

"All the time we've know him," they shook their heads together, "I don't think he's ever so much as kissed anyone else..."

"What are you doing?" England's tired eyes bulged as he realised what France was preparing to do. "I-I can change myself..." He blushed furiously.

"You can hardly stand!" France argued, trying again to get a firm hand on the Brit's shirt buttons. The wet clothes could cause him to get ill, and he wanted to change his own clothes too.

"Let me try!" The Brit snapped, giving a small huff when France put his hands in the air and wondered to the bathroom to change out of his own wet clothes.

"This was a new shirt as well..." The Frenchman muttered, peeling the expensive material from his chest. He pulled a fresh one over the top, before undoing his trousers, and pulling down his boxers so he could replace them with dry ones.

"Angleterre how are you doing?" When there wasn't a reply, he pushed open the door.

England was sat where France had left him, still fully dressed in his wet clothes, and crying softly. "I-I can't do it..." He sobbed, giving a violent shiver, showing France his trembling fingers, "I'm t-too cold..."

Feeling his heart beginning to pound faster, France moved towards the Brit's bed, turning him to face him.

"Please let me help" he begged, trying to warm the Englishman with his touch, but his own fingers were still pretty cold from the swim.

Crying harder, England nodded, closing his eyes.

France undid the buttons of his shirt. He had to act normal, he wanted to show the Brit he didn't care about the black scar, that he could trust him not to tell anyone else.

Fully removing the shirt, he helped England into another, before moving to the Englishman's belt. England's eyes opened, staring at France in amazement.

"You...Why...?" England spluttered, watching the Frenchman remove his trousers- tilting the Brit slightly from his sitting position so he could loosen them. Feeling embarrassed, somehow England managed to return enough strength in his fingers to make France turn so he could change his own boxers.

He'd hardly pulled them up again when France turned, pressing their lips together; moving England beneath him on the bed.

"How did you...?" The smaller nation flinched as he felt France's hand run along the length of the scar across the white material of the new shirt.

"I've known quite a few years" France admitted, before pausing, "I know how you got it too..." Taking England's hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm the one who should have been apologising..."

"But I... My people killed her..." France could almost laugh. Didn't the Brit know that he had loved Joan only for a fraction of his long life. He'd loved the Brit even longer than he'd known.

He even suspected he'd had some feelings for the younger nation when they were children too.

"England that was hundreds of years ago, what I did to you..." France looked away painfully, "...You've got it for life, and everyone else is unknowingly hunting you for what I did..."

"I never blamed you..." England's voice was quiet, one of his hands, lifting to brush through the Frenchman's slowly drying hair. "I didn't even blame your people..."

"You should!" France felt his temper snap, "because of them, I can't touch you like I want to!" His fingers twitched near the place where he knew the elastic of England's boxers to be.

Looking sideways regretfully, the Brit forced himself to meet the Frenchman's eyes, "you can try if you like..."

"Angleterre..." France judged his lover's expression carefully, "are you sure, we don't have to right now..."

"Please..." England kissed him nervously, closing his eyes and breathing quickly, "Otherwise I just keep getting more and more scared..."

Unsteadily France shifted the Brit so they were in a better position on the bed. One hand tugging the boxers down to England's ankles. He stripped himself clean of his trousers and boxers, before drifted his hands over the Englishman's own shirt.

He managed to remove it completely, kissing the Brit's mouth and neck as he went, trying to help him relax.

France knew they both could feel the other's erection against their legs. "Do you want to do mine first, then I'll do yours..."

England knew the Frenchman was hoping the younger man would find that enough for the time being, but England was determined to go as far as he could.

Moving forward uncertainly, he lowered his head towards France's tip, darting his tongue over it slowly.

Remembering how innocent England had been last time this happened, France kept his hips still as the Brit worked.

He let himself release a little pre-cum into England's mouth trying to get him used to it. He smiled when the other nation gave a short cough and splutter. Unawarely he began to rock his hips, driving himself a little deeper into the Brit's mouth, before cumming hard against the back of his throat.

Coughing, England pulled back, swallowing as much as he could, before glaring at the Frenchman, with an almost childish pout, "you did that on purpose!" He grumbled.

Giving him a playful grin, France pressed him down on the bed, "let me show you how it's done."

Immediately a moan of pleasure left the Englishman's lips; France had grabbed him hard and was stroking his hand along the base. "Ah~ France..." Closing his eyes.

The Frenchman grinned at the reaction, letting his tongue lick across the top. He hadn't even reached the tip, and pre-cum was already dripping from it. Licking it up softly, France swirled his tongue around the tip, still fondling England's balls as he worked.

"I-I'm going to..." The Brit felt irritated at the short amount of time he could actually hold onto his erection compared to the Frenchman who was already sprouting another.

He gave a small cry, releasing into France's mouth.

When he looked up the Frenchman had already swallowed it, and was moving slowly up England's body, kissing every piece of skin he came too, before sitting up abruptly.

"Are you really sure?" He asked, stroking England's cheek, "I won't mind if you want to stop there..."

"Stop asking me, and just fuck me!" England snapped, growing impatient, his worry beginning to rise up again in his chest.

If he closed his eyes he could still remember the harsh thrusts that had hit his young body again and again, mercilessly; giving all of them a turn.

"Here..." Opening his eyes, England found France offering him three of his fingers, "I want you to feel in control,"

"What are you going to do?" The Brit studied the fingers warily.

"Suck them" France ordered, "making them as wet as you can, I need to make room first..."

Then it hit England, what France was about to do.

"Won't that be painful?" He whimpered, drawing back.

"Only at first, and it's a lot better than it would be without any preparation," France offered him the fingers again.

Taking them in his mouth the Brit spun his tongue round them, drenching them in saliva; France had said to make them as wet as possible. He glanced up at the Frenchman's face while he worked. A slow smile was drifting over the other man's mouth.

Pulling his drenched fingers from the Brit's mouth, he moved him beneath him again; taking the Brit's hand with his free fingers.

He pushed the first digit into the Brit's anus.

"I-It hurts..." Tears streamed down the Brit's cheeks, "take it out, please..." France was almost tempted to obey, but then he realised that he couldn't leave England with the impression that sex was as painful as the first finger.

He slipped the second one in, making a scissoring motion, feeling the tight muscles around his fingers. He placed a kiss on the hand he was holding. "Please relax Angleterre..."

To his relief he felt the muscles relax, leaving space for the last finger.

He just needed to find that prostate...

A sharp orgasmic cry from the other man told him he'd found what he was looking for. Withdrawing his fingers, France spread England's legs, guiding himself into place.

He moved his hips forwards slowly, letting the Brit adjust, before slamming the prostate with a sudden change of pace.

England gave a loud moan, wrapping his arms around France's neck and pulling himself into a sitting position against him.

The two locked lips, tongues fighting against the other, trying to pin each other's to the base of their mouths.

A thin trail of saliva kept them attached for a few more moments. When it broke they kissed each other again.

France's hips were rocking faster, his hand on England's back to try and keep his balance, as the bed began to rock.

"France~" The Englishman let the other man's name trail from his mouth between kisses.

Giving a small gasp, France tightened his hold on England's hand, letting himself release into the Brit.

The two fell down on the bed panting.

Slowly pulling himself out of the Englishman, France lay beside the Brit; kissing his trembling forehead lovingly. "There, that wasn't so bad?"

England shook his head slowly, eyes drowsy and sleepy.

"Je t'aime" France smiled,

"Je t'aime aussi..." _I love you too _England breathed, drifting into a soft and happy sleep. France watched him for a while, before his own eyes began to close.


	78. Chapter 69

"You are paying to have that car fixed!" France snapped, storming back into the hotel after examining his dented car. America must have crashed into every postbox between the hotel and the Themes.

The American shifted guiltily. "Sure, fine" he sighed, "how much?"

While the two nations debated over the price to fix the car Canada and England stood a little further back.

The hotel's sitting room was practically empty, apart from them and Denmark who was reading a book in the corner- He didn't seem very welcome in his room.

"You seem happy?" Canada glanced at his former carer. Since falling in the river, England seemed to be carrying a strange smile in his eyes. He didn't miss that the Brit blushed at his question.

"Why shouldn't I be happy?" He asked, glancing towards France, his eyes shining with light.

"I-I mean you just seem happier than usual" The Canadian shrugged; his own eyes turning to America.

"Has anything happened between you two since his civil war ended?" The Brit turned slyly to the younger nation,

"Y-You knew about that!" Canada blushed, shifting from foot to foot.

"France has a way of knowing these things, and he told me" England admitted, "it's just it's obvious you two still care a lot for each other."

England was in a very strange mood Canada decided. He didn't usually have conversations like this. "No... We haven't..." He murmured, a tone of disappointment in his words, "he just gets really protective when any one else tries to speak to me, that means I can't even have a relationship with anyone else... Not that I want to..." He shook his head.

Glancing around, the Brit realised he wasn't the best person for Canada to ask about this; maybe France... No, he'd just tell Canada to do something perverted.

"Let him know how you feel perhaps" England suggested.

France had mentioned it before, but before this England had never really seen that much resemblance between him and Canada.

The Frenchman was coming back towards them looking irritated.

"You go and see if you can get any more out of him Canada" he sighed, shooting a glare over his shoulder at the pouting American.

England gave Canada a small nod, that the Canadian exchanged for a smile before he began moving towards America.

"What have you two been talking about then?" France smirked. The two began heading towards the library; where they knew they'd be able to be alone.

"I was just asking Canada about him and America..." England mumbled, looking bashful, "I didn't want him going to you for help, you'd probably tell him to do something perverted to get that clueless bastard's attention,"

"probably" France agreed.

He stopped beside one of the bookshelves, scanning its contents, pulling out a red backed book and handing it to the Englishman.

Leading him to one of the large chairs he pulled the younger man onto his lap, kissing his neck gently. "Read for me Angleterre" he whispered, leaving a small red mark just under the Brit's collar so the other nations wouldn't notice it.

Smiling to himself, England opened the book and began to read.

~/~

Never in all his life had Germany believed the Italian was capable of this. Why was he being held responsible for what someone else had done!

France. He needed to talk to France. Old rumour had it that France had been the only nation that wasn't scared of Rome. In fact he had been actively involved in plans to kill the super power. After speaking to Greece and Turkey he had extracted the story that France was the only one smiling that day.

France would know how badly Italy had gone.

Denmark had told him that he was sure he'd seen France heading towards the library. Again there was another nation he'd never expected to see looking so downbeat.

Moving swiftly through the library door, Germany followed the murmuring sound he could hear at the other end.

He hesitated when he rounded a shelf to see England sat on one of the seats, reading softly aloud, while France was perched on the edge of the same chair, with his head resting on the Englishman's with a peaceful smile on his face.

He'd never seen the other two major EU countries like this before. These were the two nations he'd had to order a first aid kit for, after their fights during meetings?

But he had to know about Italy.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he watched the two nations jump; England slammed the book shut immediately- both were back to their usual expressions.

"What do you want!" England snapped, moving quickly away from the Frenchman and towards the window, his face almost as red as the scarlet cross on his flag.

"Allemagne what's wrong?" France looked embarrassed as well, but he knew Germany better, and could tell that there was something wrong.

"H-Have you seen Italy since the last meeting?" Germany didn't meet France's gaze as he spoke- that was unusual.

"Non" France shook his head, glancing at the Brit with a slow smirk, England returned it with a huff and an even redder face. "Why?"

"Please come and see him..." The German swallowed, motioning for France to follow him.

"Angleterre you stay here..." Germany heard the Frenchman whisper to the other man,

"no, you keep telling me to do that, and it just makes me worry more!" Keeping his back firmly turned Germany was sure the so called 'frigid' Brit had just kissed his 'well known' enemy. The world simply didn't make sense any more.

"Okay... You can come," France didn't sound happy, but he and England joined Germany a few moments later. "It's like an EU mission" France grinned, "we're actually doing something together, who knows perhaps it will inspire you to join the Euro mon cher?"

"Not on your life" England growled, but there was a small smile on his face.

"Ever since Italy saw that... Scene, he's been really..." Germany searched for the right word, "...Cold, he's even starting to fr...igh...ten me..." he mumbled the last few words, but France still picked up on what had been said.

"In what kind of way?" He still didn't sound like he was taking this seriously, and honestly Germany didn't blame him, a few days ago he probably would have laughed in someone's face if they told him Italy was going to be like this.

"Greece and Turkey were mumbling something about Rome..." Germany saw a change in the Frenchman's expression when he said that, it seemed like France had picked up the pace.

Germany led the way into his room, where Italy was sitting on his bed, Prussia was cowering near the back of the room with Japan trying to look unnoticeable.

"Ciao Francia," Italy smirked, shooting a nasty look at Germany; "what brings you here?"

France swallowed, that cocky, arrogant tone didn't sound like Italy; it didn't even sound like Romano.

"What's the matter?" Italy crooned mockingly, "are you scared?"

France moved stiffly towards the Italian, surveying him carefully, "this isn't Italy..."

"It is now" was the immediate reply.

Turning France fixed a questioning look on Prussia, but again his gaze was avoided.

"Do you want to tell us why you're acting like this?" France sighed, turning back to Italy, "or are you going to leave it up to guess work?"

The largest cat like grin lit Italy's features. "I will tell you..." He licked his lips shooting another look at Prussia, "and I hope it kills him!"

"Shut up!" Prussia suddenly lunged across the room, in a wild lunge for Italy. The Italian dodged, seizing one of Prussia's arms and fixing it behind his back- a move Germany had shown him years ago, who'd have known he'd actually been listening.

"Bruder, you know what's going on?" Germany sounded shocked, taking a worried step back; _something horrid was kicking at a door in his head, screaming to be let out. Something that felt it had been hidden away for far too long._

Kicking Prussia hard, Italy released him; stepping towards Germany, eyes glowing with triumph. "Do you remember a girl dressed in a green dress, she worked for Austria, right?" France stepped forward when Italy bent his head so he and Germany were only about an inch apart, but a hand pulled him back. Japan?

"No" Germany replied quickly, though he made no effort to get away from the smaller man.

"Really?" Italy pulled a faked look of hurt, "because it wasn't a girl was it?"

_Again that door was being pushed, someone was screaming inside. It was then that Germany realised that they'd always been there. Smiling when he smiled, when Italy made him laugh or happy; crying when he cried after losing those he was close to, and now he could feel it's rage._

He wanted to reach forward and grab the Italian, the things Germany wanted to do to him made his heart shiver.

"Maybe you remember the young nations you killed to build your empire on, perhaps you remember your brother's screams in the room you shut yourself away from!" He paused, studying the German's face slowly, "but just know this, I wish that every moment I spent making you feel pleased with yourself, putting that smile on your face had never happened!"

Germany struck out his hand and grabbed Italy by his collar, almost pulling him off the floor.

"Do you remember now?" He grinned, watching Germany's furious glare turn on his brother.

He looked different now. His blond hair a mess, blue eyes colder, and skin paler.

_The handle on the door had snapped, and slowly it was beginning to open. And it hurt so much._

"Is this really what you want?" Germany's expression was strained, his face twitching, trying to stay in focus and control. "You know what this might do," dropping Italy to the ground he backed away, covering his head in his hands.

"Please Italy stop it!" Prussia begged, his eyes widening, "Hungary was right, I should have let things carry on the way they were, love will keep him together, heartbrake will destroy him!"

"Good!" Italy growled.

They heard a thumping upstairs, followed by a loud exclamation that sounded like Romano, before the door was thrown open and Spain pushed through.

One of his arms still looked limp, but the bone had now covered itself, and scars were beginning to replace the thinner slashes.

Spain looked from Italy, to Germany, to France.

"Oh shit no!" He wailed, looking back at Italy again. "No!" He yelled again, looking up at the heavens, "for fuck sake where the hell are you now!" He looked back down again, taking Italy by the shoulders, "focus, focus Italy!" He snapped, "Your becoming unstable, you can't be like him!"

"Why not!" Italy tried to shake the Spaniard off him, "I was his favourite," he looked past Spain's should at a white faced Romano who had just entered, "unlike him" the northern Italian sneered, "no one wanted him, except you of course, who grandpa had already walked away from!"

With a crack Spain hit the younger Italian twin round the face.

"You're right!" He snapped, "he did walk away from me and Romano, and what did it do to us! Do you think he wanted his _sweet, innocent _grandson to end up like the ones he'd pushed away!"

"No, he expected better of me, and I'll do him proud!" Italy hissed, pushing Spain away from him, "go fuck someone!" Then he grinned, "no, I forgot you're so pathetic that my brother who you watched being born has to fuck you himself!"

"Don't you dare!" Taking Spain's place, Romano sized up to his twin brother. He suddenly felt the gratitude of all the years of kindness that Spain had shown him over the years, all that time he had made Romano feel special after the long years of abuse he'd had to put up with before. "Don't you dare speak about him like that! If you're meant to be what perfect is, then I'm glad I'm not you!"

They were interrupted by a loud cry of pain from Germany. He collapsed to the floor, still clinging tightly to his head.

With a last effort, Prussia pushed through the other nations, and forced his hand on his younger brother's temple.

A static shock seemed to go through the two of them before both fell away from the other, lying still on the floor.

Germany's eyes twitched open again almost immediately; the anger hadn't left him, but it seemed the Holy Roman Empire look about him had. _The door had a bar across it, allowing only the anger to seep through the cracks._

"Prussia!" France and Spain dropped to the ground beside their friend.

"Oh shit this isn't good!" Spain shook his head looking frightened, "I can't feel a pulse!"

"He can't die!" France felt tears welling up in his eyes, "He can't!"

Spain looked crumpled, his shoulders sagged. "Who's going to tell..."

Hungary rushed through the open door. She stared around at all the nations huddled in the same part of the room, then looked down. Her blood stopped.

"P-Prussia" She fell to her knees beside him, she gave a half laugh, sobbing, "you're the great almighty Prussia remember, most awesome of them all; come on, get up and laugh, make fun of me for worrying so much. Prussia..." She gave a pained choke, burring her head in his chest, "wake up."


	79. Chapter 70

A firm hand pushed its way through the mass of the other nations. The one who'd almost been forgotten where he stood at the back. He touched Prussia's arm, closing his eyes; searching, looking for the one sign that would reassure everyone.

There wasn't one.

"_Come on!" _He felt his body growl, looking in every corner.

Then.

A small wisp of a boy, sat on the dark ground, watching an old film go by on a large screen. He was watching Hungary.

"_Come back to her..." _England reached out to touch the young Prussian's shoulder, he didn't want to force him back.

"_What will Germany think..." _Prussia shook his head, _"I've hidden it for now, but it's only temporary."_

"_Don't think about him, think about her!" _England tried to force the image of Hungary's crying face in front of him, _"She'll die without you."_

He saw a thicker form beginning to spread through the boy. But he'd turned to look at something past England's shoulder. _"Don't you think it's pretty?" _He asked.

Knowing what he was about to see, England turned. The beautiful glade. They could see children playing in the distance, calling out to each other and laughing.

He forced a smile, _"bit boring don't you think, and even if Hungary did come and join you, you'd never be able to have sex again." _Feeling proud of himself, England saw the field beginning to dull, lights were flicking on again in Prussia's mind; he was coming back.

Turning to go England saw another boy. His hair blond, and eyes sky blue. Another Prussia; the one who had been hidden away underneath the one that now stood beside him.

"_I've ruined everything haven't I?" _The white haired Prussian asked,

"_No" _The other boy laughed, _"Remember I'm still here, you only need someone like her to bring me out."_

Letting out an exhausted gasp England stumbled backwards out of Prussia's mind. He realised all the other nations must have stopped some time ago to watch what he was doing.

"What?" Hungary sounded shocked and furious, until Prussia blinked open his eyes, and smiled at her.

As she hugged him, England felt Prussia's confused eyes on him.

Glancing round, he studied the faces of all the other nations in the room. Everyone looked at the very least astounded. Then Romano spoke up,

"you did something like that to Spain too..." He looked at the Spaniard, "but it was a little different this time..."

Feeling his senses returning, England began processing what he'd just done.

He'd acted without thinking. Everyone had been so upset, France had been crying, and Italy and Germany were at each other's throats. He'd wanted it to stop.

"What were you doing?" Italy sounded interested, "Prussia can you remember?" He and the other nations whether knowingly or not began moving closer to the British nation.

"I-I..." Prussia looked round at them all, then hard at England, "he spoke to me, and convinced me not to pass over..."

"He was in your head?" Hungary sounded shocked.

Feeling every instinct suddenly finish rebooting England turned to run, but Germany's hand caught round his wrist, "how did you do that?"

"Back off!" France forced himself between England and the advancing nations, helping the Brit to shift closer to the door.

"They said marked..." France and England spun round to see America blocking their way, his face a mixture of hurt and fear. "England... Tell me it isn't true..."

"France..." The Frenchman froze when he heard that frightened voice, England had taken a hold of his sleeve and was trembling, "...I was just trying to help..."

"And he did!" France snapped, glaring at Prussia, "he'd be dead if it wasn't for England!"

"But he got into his head!" Germany growled, "what if he can do it with all of us?"

Then Italy's slow voice joined him, "what if he's doing it to you now, he's so desperate to feel loved that he'll make you..."

Anger spilled from every pour in France's body.

Suddenly he could remember how much older Italy was than him, he'd been the one to find France as a baby, in the scaffolding of the city later founded as Paris.

"If any of you so much as lay a finger on this man then I will kill you all without a moment of hesitation," he tone was low, but it carried to all of them, "after all, I've done it before..." He closed his eyes tightly, trying to drive those awful images from his mind.

"This is it!" Japan suddenly let out a cry backing away, "what England said, right at the beginning, we are all going to kill each other!"

"Imagine being the only nation..." Italy closed his eyes for a moment, a look of ecstasy gracing his looks. This at least got enough of the other nations to hesitate for France to punch past America and pull England after him.

"Everyone is going to know!" The Brit sobbed, "they'll kill me again, and I'm too scared to get back this time..." He looked up at France, eyes wide and tearful, "don't you want to know how I did it?"

France closed his eyes. When he'd first heard of this nation he'd wanted to know so much how to escape death, but now; he'd much rather ensure it possible that he'd never need to know; that none of them would need to know.

"England..." He spoke the other man's name softly, "no, I don't want to know, because it doesn't matter..." Pulling the Brit into a quick kiss he gave him a lopsided smile.

"I won't let America touch you..." A small voice came from the side. They glanced up to see Canada; twiddling his thumbs but looking determined, "I-I don't know if he'll listen to me, but even he can't have forgotten that you brought us up..."

"Thank you..." France smiled at the younger man, "but I'm not sure how many will agree with you..."

Nodding miserably, The Canadian motioned them into their room. "We'll sort it out."

"And we are doing what about this?" America pressed, staring round at the other nations. Canada had managed to persuade him to at least talk about this in today's meeting before leaping to conclusions.

Most of the nations had shifted away from the gloomy looking Englishman, who was sinking slowly deeper into his seat. France sat on his left side, glaring round at everyone- particularly Prussia and Romano that had told the others about England's strange sense in the first place, after he'd helped them out!

Come to think of it, why did England have that sort of ability?

Two seats down from them Japan sat, looking nervous, but he stayed where he was. Switzerland and Liechtenstein had folded their arms and were trying to look uninterested in the subject.

Canada and America had the seats opposite them, at the other end of the circular table.

"Do we need to do anything about it!" Canada demanded, to America's question.

France couldn't help feeling a little proud of the usually quiet Canadian, he hoped England felt it to.

America turned to England, after glancing around at the spread out table.

Italy seemed to have an entire radius to himself, as everyone had tried to move as far away from him as possible. Germany had no one on one side, and Prussia on the other; he too seemed to be deterring people.

Spain looked excitable. Even though he hadn't fully recovered, he'd insisted on coming down to this meeting. His eyes kept darting to England and back to America.

"England, is this true?" America called across the table, his voice echoing round the eerily silent room.

"Is what true!" France snapped back, clutching at England's sweaty hand under the table, trying to reassure him enough to defend himself.

"You know what!" The American snapped back, "and let _him _answer!" This was followed by silence.

"Even if it is true, what does it mean!" Canada growled, pulling America back from his position of leaning across the table's surface. "We know how it's done, what else do we need!"

"How did he get back!" America growled, turning to Canada with fury on his face, "when did it happen! Who did it!"

France flinched at the last question, no one seemed to notice except England, and possibly Japan; but he ignored it.

Now the Brit had looped his fingers strongly round France's, giving him a weak smile.

Their moment was broken when America chucked his briefcase across the table between the two of them. "We're talking about him, don't distract the bastard!" He snapped, staring furiously at the Frenchman.

"I say we make him tell us..." Spain got to his feet, eyes glowing with malice. France remembered Spain's previous obsession when he was afraid of dying, but he'd believed that the Spaniard had moved on from that.

Spain seemed more agitated since Italy's change of personality; had all this awakened his memoires of Rome.

Even with his arm in a sling, and bruises all over his face, Spain still managed to look frightening enough to even make Germany and Italy shift their seats back.

Clearing his throat, Japan flushed looking embarrassed as he got to his feet.

"Is this how we want this meeting to be remembered?" He asked, "when we first came here we were told of a prophecy that we would tear each other apart, do we want that to come true?" He stared hard at every individual at the table.

"I thought you lot were all done with stupid wars!" Switzerland leaped to his feet, "well I won't get involved!" He snapped, motioning Liechtenstein to his side, "we're standing natural!"

"I'll help protect him if this is what it's going to come to!" Canada fixed his violet glare at America, "is that what you want America? A war?"

Russia stood up, a strangely defiant look in his eyes, "I don't want to know how to come back" he spoke clearly, his voice neither childish nor scary; the only way to describe it was sensible. Of course that then meant that Ukraine and Belarus got to their feet to agree with him.

"I'm with Canada," Romano got to his feet, avoiding his brother and Spain's stare, "he risked being revealed to reassure me about Spain, I owe him something,"

"But you can't!" Italy hissed, glaring across the table at him, "we're the same country, you'll drag us into civil war!"

Knowing how cruel he was being, Canada blinked his eyes slowly shut at the American, reminding him with his scars what had happened during the cold war.

Paling, America turned away, "I-I didn't say we were going to fight..." He shook his head, "I just wanted to know..."

"Tell us then?" Spain seemed to be growing with impatience, pushing away from the table and making his way over to England. France was on his feet immediately, ready to defend the other man at all costs, even if it involved fighting one of his best friends. "That's right..." The Spaniard grinned darkly, changing tactics, and seizing France by his collar, "you'll know if there's anything wrong with him?"

The Frenchman pushed his friend away, "even if I did, I wouldn't tell you!"

Spain's eyes widened with feigned surprise, "in that case I'll just have to find out myself..." Punching France hard round the face, he made a dive for England.

"Not on your life!" France growled, knocking his backwards with a quick blow to the face.

"Sit down!" Romano snapped, pulling at Spain's good arm, pulling him back to his seat; noticing that Spain's gaze had gone back to his brother.

Italy had moved gracefully to his feet, smiling cruelly at the British nation. "France knows he can't really fight all of us" he smirked, "why don't you make it easier for us, and just answer our questions?"

Italy moved closer, so he was inches from France, before he grabbed the blond nation by the roots of his hair, lowering him to his height.

"Don't think I don't remember, you were the one who ensured Germania and Rome's final battle was to the death," he gave a light growl, knocking the Frenchman's head against the table. England flinched at France's cry of pain.

"Stop!" He sobbed, "I'll talk!"

Italy licked his lips, dropping France to the ground and advancing on the English nation. "So how did you come back?"

Swallowing hard, England motioned to his left side. "When I died, I fought back even when they'd taken me to the field; I wanted to come back. I grabbed my knife and embedded it in the Druid's side, so she burned an identical one into my skin," he looked at the ground, unable to meet any of the other nation's gazes, "she laughed and told me I had spirit, so she'd let me live again; but that wouldn't be the last I saw of her..."

"Show us," America got back to his feet, holding Canada down in his own seat.

Slowly, with shaking hands England began to unbutton his shirt, letting it fall open just enough for the others in the room to get a look at the black slice down his left side.

A few of them recoiled, closing there eyes. But others stayed staring.

"So how would we avoid death?" Spain voiced, ignoring Romano's protests,

"I-I don't know" England muttered, "I just know what I did, I don't think it would work a second time..."

"You mentioned a field...?" Russia looked up with a pained look on his face, "what's it like there?"

That was when the Englishman really began to tremble, closing his eyes tightly and shaking his head. Thick tears falling from his eyes.

His head hurt. It hurt to remember something so pure.

Opening his mouth, he found his voice dying in his throat.

"Come on!" Germany growled, looking like he was ready to come at England as well.

"S-So beautiful..." His heart was pounding fearfully, "endless flowers and grass... I-I saw Rome, Germania, Ancient Egypt, and Ancient Greece there... they were children, all playing together..." With the last words the Brit fell to his knees crying hard.

"Are you finished with him yet!" France growled, struggling back to his own feet.

"You saw Grandpa!"

"You saw Grandma!"

Various cries went up from Romano, Italy, Greece, Egypt, Prussia, and Germany.

"Was she happy...?" Greece glanced up at England hopefully,

"She was" the Brit nodded, "they all were..."

"I think we've done enough," Canada's voice was bitter, "can't you leave him now."

America glanced sideways at him, before nodding his head, "I think we all need to sleep this off."


	80. Chapter 71

"Matthew?" America and Canada waited until the meeting room was completely empty before they looked at each other.

"Don't call me that!" The Canadian snapped, beginning to walk away, "how could you do that to him! He brought us up, or have you already forgotten those days he spent reading to us, mopping us up when we fell over, feeding us his awful food! Or don't you care!"

Looking irritated America turned his head. "Like England said the other day, we're not a family..."

"But me and France both supported him!" Canada argued, "why did you turn your back on us!"

"I-I just wanted to know!" The American grabbed hold of the other man's shoulder, begging him to understand, "Because knowing we can be killed just like that scared me, and I don't want to die!"

Slapping his hand away, Canada turned his back, "You really are a selfish git!"

Feeling something inside of him snap, America caught hold of the back of the Canadian's shirt, spinning him round to face him; fixing their lips together as hard as he could, biting at the other man's lips, trying to force them open.

"Get off me!" Canada tried to push his hands against America's chest, in an attempt to push him away. Feeling himself beginning to lose his balance, Canada tried to catch his hands against the table.

"Matty, let me please..." America kissed him again, grinding his hips against his northern neighbour. "I would never have let them hurt him, I was just upset; because he hadn't trusted us like he had France..."

"France found out by accident, England never told him..." Canada remembered the story they had told him when he'd led them back to their room after the confrontation.

With a jolt Canada realised America was crying onto his shoulder, eyes wrapped round his back, "please Matty, I want to touch you..."

Feeling his cheeks heating with embarrassment Canada closed his eyes, letting himself relax a little when America kissed him again; this time more gently, letting their tongues flow together at the Canadian's pace.

Canada felt America's hands reach up to caress the skin around his eyes. "I'm really sorry..." He murmured, kissing the scars softly, fixing his pained eyes on the other man,

"I know..." Canada kissed him back, letting America lower him to the floor, away from the table.

Feeling America's weight on him, Canada shifted nervously, were they really going to do this after all this time.

"I love you Matty," America's voice. The Canadian looked up, seeing the truth in the American nation's voice, "I've always loved you, and never stopped. But you're right, I am a selfish git... But I won't ever be apart from you again..."

Canada let out a steady moan, as America's tongue moved along his collarbone, undoing the Canadian's shirt as he went, licking at every piece of new skin he could get his mouth on.

"I love you..." Canada blushed before adding the other man's human name, "...Alfred."

The name seemed to tighten the already hard bulge that Canada could feel against his leg.

He was stripped of his clouting in a matter of seconds, America kicking off his trousers with an almost frantic struggle.

"D-Do you have anything?" Canada suddenly remembered how painful sex was without lube or at least something like it.

The look that crossed the American's face told him that he hadn't thought of it either, and after such a tense meeting they couldn't exactly ask any of the other nations for some.

"I-I think I may have some maple syrup in my briefcase..." Canada blushed a sensitive pink, already feeling America's hands stroking his hardened member.

He heard the other man's free hand groping around blindly for the briefcase, pulling items towards him to check. When he finally grabbed the right item, case notes were thrown blindly away, hands seizing at the travel sized bottle of maple syrup.

"Matty~" Canada heard America breath his name, squirting the golden liquid over his fingers, licking a little of the sweet off his digits, before reaching his hand round and placing two fingers into the other man's hole.

"Too fast!" Canada gave a sharp yelp, he hadn't been expecting two fingers at once. America silence him with a kiss, letting him bite at his lip to let out the agony coming from lower down.

Inserting the last finger just in case, America searched around for the prostate; feeling Canada shiver when he brushed against it with his finger tips.

"Please Alfred!~" The Canadian begged, arching his spine. He needed this too.

~/~

"It's all over..." France steadied the Brit, carefully lowering him onto his bed, "they've got what they needed to know, and realised that doing something to you won't solve the puzzle." He clambered onto the bed too, straddling his legs over England's waist.

"But they're fighting worse than ever now..." The other man trembled, covering his eyes with his hands, "and look at Italy and Germany, they seemed determined to kill at least one other nation while they're here!"

"Don't say that Angleterre..." France kissed him, leaning down lower. "Hopefully they'll calm down, remember nations do it all the time," he knew England didn't miss the look of guilt that flashed over his face again.

"I was awful too," The Brit smiled softly, "I was the terror of the seas, the great and bountiful British Empire, don't even pretend I wasn't unbearable,"

"I wasn't going to," France gave a sharp grin, grinding his hips down on England's, "but that didn't stop me wanting to screw you every time you stormed away from me with that tight arse behind you." He smirked when the Englishman gave an undignified cry, reacting to France's suffocating grip on one of his cheeks.

Slowly he felt his trousers being shifted away, then his boxers; so the Frenchman could fondle the soft skin under the material.

"Do we h-have to tonight..." The Briton shied away from the touch, keeping his eyes covered with embarrassment.

Keeping his hand where it was, France did stop squeezing, "sorry..." He apologised, "you must be tired after all that..."

"You as well!" England sat up, feeling his bare legs rub against the material of France's jeans, "Italy went for you too!"

Laughing France patted his head, smiling affectionately, "the way you're talking reminds me of when you were little." Lowering them both onto the bed, France pulled the covers over England's naked half; pulling their bodies closer together.

"France..." England turned his head upwards from its position snuggled against the Frenchman's chest,

"What is it mon cher?" Laying a kiss on top of his head, France glanced at the door; he couldn't help wondering where Canada and America had gotten to.

"Well...I..." Blushing madly, England shifted his legs under the covers, looking uncomfortable, "...I just heard from Canada that apparently nations that l-like each o-other..." He trailed off, not meeting France's enquiring stare, "...Well, that you told each other your human names..."

Was England doubting France's loyalty to him? Though he supposed the Brit had a right to be suspicious; this would be the first relationship where he didn't cheat on his partner.

"Francis..." France shifted his fingers under the Brit's chin, lifting his face for a close kiss, "et tu?"

Swallowing hard, England bit his lip, "A-Arthur" he stammered.

"Arthur?" France gave a small startled chuckle,

"W-What!" The Englishman demanded, looking upset; did he name sound stupid? Maybe France didn't like it...

"Non, non!" Quickly recovering himself before his lover could get the wrong idea, the Frenchman kissed both of his hands, "I was just remembering the stories the Saxons used to tell me when they were trying to invade. They were driven all the way back to the coast in one battle; where the Celts all screamed they had _Arthur _behind them."

Smiling, England looked pleased France could remember that far back, "my people gave me my name to give hope to the fighting men, it didn't do much good though in the long run..."

"It's a beautiful name mon pitit lapin," He grinned at England's blush,

"Y-Your name is pretty too..." Blinking nervously England tested it out, "Francis...?"

He seemed to say it perfectly; unlike the American who would have probably pronounced it 'Fr_A_n-Ciss, with a stretched A. England always had that wonderful way of carrying vowel sounds like he did. France may not like the language, but he had to admit to himself that the English nation did have a lovely accent.

"Arthur then," he tested the new name on his own tongue, finding the ending coming out with a rougher accent than England's. He thought it sounded nicer that way. A name that could only be said by his lips.

_Mine. _That's what France could see when he looked into those sharp green eyes. _Mine. _

His heart gave a sort of jump, giving him a powerful rush. Fixing his mouth firmly on the Brit's he let his tongue prise open the other man's lips, giving him free run of the younger man's mouth. Wrapping his arms around England's back, pulling them as tightly together as humanly possible.

Even if they couldn't have sex tonight France was going to ensure that the man he loved still fell asleep with his heart racing.

Feeling the Brit gasp, he let him draw back for air; leaving a small trail of saliva still attaching them.

"Wow!" He felt impressed with himself at England's reaction, only just letting the Brit catch his breath before pulling him back for another deep kiss.

"Je t'aime Arthur" France whispered between tongue movements,

"I love you too Francis..." Arthur gave a low moan against France's lips.

Trailing his mouth lower, France sucked just at the nape of the Brit's neck, leaving a firm, glowing love bite.

England's exhaustion was obvious by the look on his stubborn face.

Making him lie down again, the Frenchman relaxed, "Goodnight mon spéciales" _My special one_

"Bon nuit..." England paused, "...Frog."

~/~

"We're not finished with him yet" Italy muttered darkly under his breath, as the nation stormed up to their bedrooms, "he knows, he must still be hiding the secret from us..."

Germany gave a huff, "or if he's telling the truth you could end up throwing yourself into a silly useless war that you'll probably lose anyway."

Italy turned on him with burning eyes, "you're one to talk."

Feeling the intended hurt in Italy's words, Germany's insides gave a small clench. _The person behind the door felt it too, and they recoiled slightly._

"Italy... Do we have to become like this?" He sighed, running his hand through his hair in an exhausted way.

For a moment it looked like Italy was considering the offer, then he smirked, sticking his nose in the air, "you don't even know what you've done," with that he marched to his own bed.

...

"Ita-Chan?" Opening his eyes slowly Italy found himself looking up, face to face with his grandfather.

This was not the first time Italy had ever been awoken by his grandfather, just wanting to know how he was doing, and if anything new had happened since last time he'd managed to get back for a visit.

"That British bastard said he saw you as a child in a field?" Italy questioned, still half asleep in his thoughts.

"That's right," Rome gave a chuckle, "I remember him very briefly; stabbed that irritating Druid in the side, they actually sent him back." Then his expression hardened, staring at his grandson carefully; they seemed to be looking more similar than ever. "Do you know why I'm here Italy?"

Shaking his head, Italy looked away.

"Don't make the same mistakes I did, I lived a good life, and I'm happy now; I even come back and visit you sometimes. I've been watching Romano too, just a little more quietly. I've seen you turn against your friends; that boy you begged me not to kill when you found him, and you just smashed his head repeatedly into a table..."

"But he was responsible practically for you and Germania's deaths!" Italy argued back, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the others.

"I've already told you Italy, I lived a good life, and I loved Germania; we're both happy now. He glanced sideways at Germany; "and we want our grandchildren to be happy to."

He ruffled Italy's hair, "remember how much he loves you, it's tearing the poor boy apart feeling you drifting away from him like this..."

A crack of lightening rented the sky, illuminating the room for a moment in a blinding light. Rome had gone.

Feeling his heavy feet carrying him almost instinctively, Italy pulled himself over to Germany's bed; shivering at another crack of thunder. Was Rome doing this on purpose?

But he knew that all he really wanted was an excuse, what had he been thinking; dismissing Germany like that? Dismissing Holy Roma like that...

Crawling under the covers, Italy worked his way against the German's strong muscular arms, he felt safe here. This was the easy part. The hard part was waking up in the morning and having to explain."


	81. Chapter 72

Germany let his eyes flutter open, breathing in deeply; something felt different about this morning. Allowing his senses to fully awaken, he began to pull his arms into a stretch. He stopped, something was holding onto his right arm.

Turning his head slowly, hardly daring to believe it, Germany turned his head. Italy's familiar body was pressed against him. The Italian had a firm grip on his arm, his own eyes beginning to open.

"Good morning" he murmured sleepily, giving a wide yawn.

"G-Good morning" Germany returned, had it all been a dream? No... The events over the last few days couldn't have been a dream.

"Mi dispiace..." Italy's voice was so quiet, Germany almost missed it.

"Nein, es tut mir leid," _No, I'm sorry _It made him uncomfortable to hear the Italian apologising first, after all it was just as much his fault, he'd upset him in the first place... He just wasn't sure how.

"Germany..." As Italy clambered out of bed, Germany saw that for once the Italian seemed to have bothered changing into a nightshirt and pants.

The German copied his movements, getting out of bed himself; everyone else was still fast asleep, and probably wouldn't be awake for another five hours.

Both left the room silently, so as not to wake up any of their other room mates.

"It was so long ago..." Italy muttered, shaking his head, "It just took me by surprise, to remember everything now..."

Germany still wasn't quite sure what the other man was talking about, but decided just to nod instead. "I missed you..." He shivered at the memory of the cold nights where he'd woken without Italy's familiar body alongside his, "and I started thinking..." He leaned closer to Italy, expression unreadable, boring deep into the Italian's brown eyes, "Ich liebe dich."

Italy didn't flinch when Germany kissed him.

They stayed with their lips pressed together and eyes closed for some time, just breathing in the sneak-peek of the taste they were about to dive into.

It was Italy who first opened his mouth, prying the German's lips open at the same time. Tongues shyly emerged to explore each other's mouths, jumping a little the first time their tongues came in contact.

"Ti amo in Germania." It took Germany a little by surprise to hear Italy say his name in Italian; previously he'd either called him whatever it was by their international tongue, or Japan's name for him.

_The door in his head was opening again; but this time it did not feel angry, only a sad and longing passion._

Germany deepened the kiss, unintentionally moving them towards the stairs to the empty floor; Spain was now back in his own room- or there's, depending whether he felt like sleeping next to anyone or not.

Italy must have realised what he was doing when the German stumbled as his heel caught on the bottom stair, causing him to trip.

Germany stopped immediately when he realised what he'd been doing.

"I-I didn't mean to..." He began to protest, but he was hushed by another soft kiss from Italy, that moved him a little further up the stairs.

The two continued in the same direction; when they reached the top of the stairs they began pulling of shirts, and kicking of the pants they'd been sleeping in. Germany spun Italy round, kissing him deeply; while the Italian fondled for the door handle to the first room they came to.

Every touch felt so recognizable; knowing exactly where to touch to make the other moan. They stumbled onto the bed, mouths fixed together in a tangle.

Germany darted out his hand to grab at Italy's lower regions, pumping his hand along the length, in firm but gentle rubs.

His brain was a haze. Powerful feelings flowing through every nerve in his body.

"G-Germany I'm going to cum!~" Italy let out a gasp, releasing over Germany's hands; it had been so long; and this time Germany knew what he was doing.

Licking the white liquid that ran along his hand, Germany kept his eyes fixed on Italy's panting body. This did look familiar...

He held out his now clean hand, smiling when Italy took the digits in his mouth, drenching them in warm saliva, leaving short nips at the ends with a playful look up at the German.

Pulling them back, Germany slowly lifted Italy's leg, inserting the first finger.

Hearing the other man's sharp intake of breath, Germany bent down to kiss him again, adding the second finger as he went; creating a scissoring motion.

He only left a slight hesitation before sticking the last finger in to join the other two.

Italy seemed so relaxed in his arms that their was little tight muscle to discourage, hopefully that would make it easier for the two of them.

"Are you ready?" He asked, feeling a little shyness beginning to creep over him,

Nodding, Italy let Germany pull him up so he was sitting on his lap, feeling the German enter him.

With the first thrust Germany saw himself and Italy on the floor at the Nuremberg trials after every one else had left.

With the second memories of someone calling his name (at least he thought it was his name?), Prussia fighting his way through the battlefield, eyes wide and frightened.

"Germany!~" Germany's sharp moan brought more images burning to his head. That girl... Not a girl; it was Italy, of course it was Italy, how could he have forgotten.

Hearing a sharp orgasmic cry from beneath him, Germany realised he'd probably hit the prostate.

Then that night before that war, that night with Italy.

With a gasp Germany released into the other man. Everything was coming back to him.

"Germany are you okay?" Italy blinked, touching the side of the German's face.

All it took was for Germany to look at the Italian for him to know.

"Ti amo" Italy smiled, "I always will, whatever you call yourself."

~/~

Norway felt himself toss and turn in his sleep, he was trying to fight that Druid out of his head, but it was a losing battle.

"Get out..." He tried to mumble, hoping one of the others would wake up and snap him out of it.

_They were leaving. Him and Iceland; Sweden and Finland were already long gone. Why Norway had put up with him for so long he didn't know._

"_Please!" Denmark's face was frantic as he watched them go, falling down onto his knees, "don't leave!"_

_Norway knew he wouldn't turn, he had a little brother to take care of now; he didn't have time to be worrying about Denmark too._

"_Norway, you can't leave me!" More desperate pleas, but the door to the house had slammed shut._

_With a cry of anger and angst, the Dane smashed his head to the wooden floor, clawing at it with his nails. "Come back! Come back!" He repeated._

_Another violent rush had him with his nails to his wrist; scratching and tearing. He wanted everything to stop, letting his frustration out on his pale arm._

"_Norway come back!" His mind was blank of everything but panic; walls seemed to be closing in around him._

_He screamed again, tears flowing down his cheeks._

"_I'm so sorry!" He howled, "for everything I did to you and the others!"_

_Norway's half asleep mind began to process what Denmark was doing when he scratched his arms; he was trying to inflict on himself what he'd done to them._

"_Don't do that..." Norway tried to take hold of Denmark's hand, to force it away from his wrists, but he just went straight through- he was only a ghost._

"Norway!" A sharp tug brought him back to the world of awake. Denmark was leaning over him, wide nervous eyes. "Y-you looked like you were having a nightmare..." The Dane moved back, "what was it about?"

Feeling his face begin to heat, The Norwegian extended one hand towards the other man. Taking it hesitantly, Denmark found himself being propelled forwards; Norway was pulling back his sleeves.

"W-What are you doing!" The Dane gave a sound of startled surprise, trying to pull his arm back, succeeding only in waking up the other Scandinavian countries.

"Wh't's goin' on?" Sweden felt around for his glasses, pulling Finland close to him just in case.

Norway gave took a sharp intake of breath. Not only were the scars there from the night he'd witnessed, but numerous others had joined their ranks; some that couldn't have been more than a few days old.

"I caught my arm on something sharp!" Denmark protested quickly, trying again to pull his arm out of the vision of every nation in the room.

"Like what!" Norway demanded,

"Nothing any of you would care about!" The Dane snapped back, struggling harder.

This statement was followed by silence.

Denmark took the opportunity to pull forwards and sink his teeth into his own arm- that made Norway let go.

"Stop it!" Norway wailed, wrapping his arms round Denmark's middle, "Please don't!"

He felt his breathing easy again when the Dane slowly released his arm, crying softly; before welcoming Norway's hug with his own arms.

~/~

Canada let the warm sun wash over his face, smiling happily to himself. He was still where he'd fallen asleep, wrapped in America's arms.

"Good morning..." The American yawned, kissing the top of the other man's head,

"Good morning" Canada replied, feeling a warm smile creeping through his entire body.

Glancing over his shoulder, America gave Canada a short poke in the ribs, "we'd better get dressed before someone comes down" he smirked, "perhaps when we get home then something more comfortable can be arranged..."

Blushing, the Canadian smiled, getting to his feet to pull together his casually discarded items of clouting.

After last night's meeting the nations knew this was probably the end of this disastrous conference. They'd almost torn each other apart, but every one was still in once piece at the end. Perhaps it would be better to quite while you were ahead.

Italy was going back to Germany's before going straight back; it was noticeable that Norway was now clinging to Denmark's arm like a limpet.

France would probably stay in the country for another few weeks before returning to his boss with excuses for why he'd been away so long (Not that England knew he was staying).

"These sorts of things really put life into perspective" Turkey shrugged, motioning to Egypt who was asking the passing nations whether they wanted to buy a pot.

"It's nice to know grandmother's doing well" Greece sighed, falling into step beside the Turk,

"Say when we get back, how about you come over to visit some time" Turkey murmured, looking embarrassed,

"Maybe I will" Greece returned with a small smile.

"France are you coming?" Belgium looked his car up and down, "That America really did smash it..."

"Non, I'm staying here for a bit," the Frenchman shook his head,

Giving him a half smirk Belgium glanced back at England, Hungary had told her about England's limp a couple of mornings ago. "Does he know you're staying?"

Looking uncomfortable, France shifted from foot to foot, "not really" he admitted, "I just like being here sometimes, he'd probably kick me out if he actually knew I owned an apartment in his capital."

Leaning a little closer, Belgium whispered in his ear, "I think he already knows."

Grinning she sped off to the Netherlands, starting up an immediate argument over whether she could drive.

England knew he had an apartment? France shook his head, that couldn't be right, England was the sort of nation that wouldn't abide by anyone- especially France, owning any of his land.

Belgium must just be getting things wrong, he knew how silly girls could be; especially when influenced by Hungary.


	82. Last Chapter

Stretching himself out on his apartment bed, France gave a small contemptible sigh. He was a little hurt that England hadn't asked him if he wanted to stay longer, but he supposed there was a lot to do after a meeting like that.

Getting up again restlessly, he strolled over to the window, looking down at the cars and people below, rushing around; caught up in their own lives.

He was disturbed from his thoughts by the sound of someone knocking on the door.

"Allo?" He strolled in the direction of the door, he hadn't ordered anything, and he didn't know anyone here?

Opening it a crack, the Frenchman peered out; only to have it pushed open in his face.

England pulled off his coat and tossed it on the floor, moving straight past France so there was no way he could be pushed back out again.

"So this is where you've been hiding away" the Brit smirked, admiring the flat with respect, "I did keep meaning to come and see what you'd done..."

Remembering Belgium's words that morning France looked on in stunned amazement.

"You knew?"

His heart gave a flip when England laughed, he seemed almost back to his old self now the other nations had gone, "Of course I knew; this is my country, my capital, I'd be a bit of a failure if I didn't notice you coming and going all the time."

England moved closer to him, grinning when the Frenchman laid a kiss on his messy hair.

"I thought you'd throw me out if you knew..." France admitted, feeling a little guilty now; of course England would have known.

Blushing, the Brit turned away, "I-I kind of liked having you so nearby..." He mumbled, feeling his own embarrassment beginning to show.

"Really?" France gave an excited smirk, pulling the Englishman onto his tiptoes for a full kiss. "So you just came for a visit then?"

"W-Well..." Knowing what he meant, France lifted the blushing smaller man off his feet bridal style, carrying him to the bed.

Lowering him down gently, France clambered on top of him, forcing the Brit down into the soft, (expensive) silk bed covers.

Leaning back to examine the image, the Frenchman felt himself growing immediately hard. England's pale skin and blond hair seemed to contrast perfectly with the white silk of the pillow, the embarrassed pout on his face simply beyond adorable.

"pourquoi avez-vous être si mignon?" _Why do you have to be so cute? _Leaning down again, France let his tongue ravage at the Englishman's neck, leaving red marks where he sucked- not bothering any more to place them where others couldn't see.

He wanted the world to know that this man belonged to him.

"Ah! Hurts!" England gave a small wail, trying to turn his neck away from the Frenchman's mouth, feeling France's hands come out to pin him by his wrists beneath him.

"Mon cher, now I've got you I'm never letting you go..." France smiled against England's neck as he felt the other nation shiver.

"Kiss me..." Glancing up with a teasing expression France smirked,

"What was that Arthur?" The smaller man gave another shiver at the mention of his name,

"K-Kiss me you dam frog!" France caught his mouth in a firm, meaningful kiss; his heart jumping as their tongues entwined together.

The French nation moved his hands down to the Brit's belt, pulling it lose before kicking his trousers down.

He stroked the tip slowly, savouring every gasp from England's lips.

"D-Do it, just do it!" The Englishman closed his eyes tightly, breath coming thick and fast.

"In such a hurry..." France shook his head with amusement, sliding his hand hard down England's erection, trembling in pleasure at the orgasmic scream beneath him.

So little work had been done and already France could sense England was coming to his peak. Giving the base a gentle squeeze France felt the clear liquid erupt over the front of his own trousers.

"Ready?" The Frenchman hesitated, England was looking nervous again, watching France's hands moving to the draw just past England's head and pulling out a tube of lube.

Not saying anything, England nodded his head hurriedly.

Remembering to be gentle, France lifted England's leg slightly so he could get a clear view of the tight entrance.

Slipping the first lube drenched finger in the Frenchman felt the Brit's body automatically close around it.

Bringing England up a little so he could kiss him, France felt the muscles relax a little; enough at least for him to slip the second finger in, so he could scissor enough room for the last digit.

"H-How many times have you d-done this?" England stammered, giving a short cry when the third finger pushed into him.

"Getting jealous are we?" France laughed at the Brit's cute blush,

"I-I mean d-did you and Joan ever...?" Trailing off England looked away, giving a shudder when France pulled his fingers out of him, positioning his own throbbing member against the entrance.

"Arthur..." France forced him to meet his gaze, he didn't really want to tell England this but something also made him feel like the Brit should know. "...She was my first..." For a moment he could remember his hips against hers, tracing every line of her body...

Snapping himself back to the present, France thrusted into England, pulling him up onto his lap, "your so silly Englishman" he smiled softly, wiping away the beginnings of guilty tears.

Managing to balance England for a moment France pulled the other man's white shirt away at the shoulders, returning his hands again to the Brit's hips so he could thrust while watching the loose shirt trail down to reveal England's slender body.

"My name..." France whispered in his ear, giving a particularly hard thrust hitting England's prostate dead centre.

"Francis!~" England gave a sharp yell, digging his nails into France's shoulders,

"Merci~" The Frenchman winked. Seeing that England was beginning to tire, with a final hard thrust France released inside him, a warm feeling swimming round him in the haze of the sex and feeling of England with his head buried in his chest.

Laying England down on the bed France undid the last few buttons of the younger man's shirt, running his fingers along the black scar.

"It's hideous isn't it..." The Englishman's voice was a murmur, his words breathless and exhausted. "I've had it for years and it never seems any better..."

"There's nothing wrong with you mon cher," France curled beside him, "you're beautiful, and I love you," with that France ended the conversation.

_Very short final chapter, but just somewhere to end it. I should probably explain why I didn't update in so long. I had a fanfiction type 2 error, but found a way round it today._

_Thank you to every one who has made it all the way through this._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the country titled characters. This fanfiction means no offence to any one._


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